ll say nothing of the sort.
I draw the line at the dear, good father act. I don't want him to
think that it comes from me at all."

"But," said Shirley puzzled, "I shall have to tell him that you--"

"What?" exclaimed Ryder, "acknowledge to my son that I was in the
wrong, that I've seen the error of my ways and wish to repent?
Excuse me," he added grimly, "it's got to come from him. He must
see the error of _his_ ways."

"But the error of his way," laughed the girl, "was falling in love
with me. I can never prove to him that that was wrong!"

The financier refused to be convinced. He shook his head and said
stubbornly:

"Well, he must be put in the wrong somehow or other! Why, my dear
child," he went on, "that boy has been waiting all his life for an
opportunity to say to me: 'Father, I knew I was in the right, and
I knew you were wrong,' Can't you see," he asked, "what a false
position it places me in? Just picture his triumph!"

"He'll be too happy to triumph," objected Shirley.

Feeling a little ashamed of his attitude, he said:

"I suppose you think I'm very obstinate." Then, as she made no
reply, he added: "I wish I didn't care what you thought."

Shirley looked at him gravely for a moment and then she replied
seriously:

"Mr. Ryder, you're a great man--you're a genius--your life is full
of action, energy, achievement. But it appears to be only the
good, the noble and the true that you are ashamed of. When your
money triumphs over principle, when your political power defeats
the ends of justice, you glory in your victory. But when you do a
kindly, generous, fatherly act, when you win a grand and noble
victory over yourself, you are ashamed of it. It was a kind,
generous impulse that has prompted you to save my father and take
your son and myself to your heart. Why are you ashamed to let him
see it? Are you afraid he will love you? Are you afraid I shall
love you? Open your heart wide to us--let us love you."

Ryder, completely vanquished, opened his arms and Shirley sprang
forward and embraced him as she would have embraced her own
father. A solitary tear coursed down the financier's cheek. In
thirty years he had not felt, or been touched by, the emotion of
human affection.

The door suddenly opened and Jefferson entered. He started on
seeing Shirley in his father's arms.

"Jeff, my boy," said the financier, releasing Shirley and putting
her hand in his son's, "I've done something you couldn't do-