well advanced toward old age. Norman had been feeling relaxed,
languid, exhausted. The signs of battle in that powerful face nerved
him, keyed him up at once. He waited with a joyful impatience while the
servant was bringing cigars and whisky. The enormous quantities of
liquor he had drunk in the last few days had not been without effect.
Alcohol, the general stimulant, inevitably brings out in strong relief a
man's dominant qualities. The dominant quality of Norman was love of
combat.

"Josephine tells me you are in a blue fury," said Norman pleasantly when
the door was closed and the three were alone. "No--not a blue fury. A
black fury."

At the covert insolence of his tone Josephine became violently agitated.
"Father," she said, with the imperiousness of an only and indulged
child, "I have asked you not to interfere between Fred and me. I thought
I had your promise."

"I said I'd think about it," replied her father. He had a heavy voice
that now and then awoke some string of the lower octaves of the piano in
the corner to a dismal groan. "I've decided to speak out."

"That's right, sir," said Norman. "Is your quarrel with me?"

Josephine attempted an easy laugh. "It's that silly story we were
talking about the other day, Fred."

"I supposed so," said he. "You are not smoking, Mr. Burroughs--" He
laughed amiably--"at least not a cigar."

"The doctor only allows me one, and I've had it," replied Burroughs, his
eyes sparkling viciously at this flick of the whip. "What is the truth
about that business, Norman?"

Norman's amused glance encountered the savage glare mockingly. "Why do
you ask?" he inquired.

"Because my daughter's happiness is at stake. Because I cannot but
resent a low scandal about a man who wishes to marry my daughter."

"Very proper, sir," said Norman graciously.

"My daughter," continued Burroughs with accelerating anger, "tells me
you have denied the story."

[Illustration: "'Father ... I have asked you not to interfere between
Fred and me.'"]

Norman interrupted with an astonished look at Josephine. She colored,
gazed at him imploringly. His face terrified her. When body and mind are
in health and at rest the fullness of the face hides the character to a
great extent. But when a human being is sick or very tired the
concealing roundness goes and in the clearly marked features the true
character is revealed. In Norman's face, haggard by his wearing
emotions, his character stood forth