mit the appearance of inconsistency," Henry replied.

"And I _know_ the existence of it," Witherspoon rejoined.

"You think so. The truth is that the affair I now have on hand had
something to do with my objecting to leave town last week."

"Why don't you tell me what it is?"

"I will when the time is ripe."

The merchant grunted. "Is it a love affair?"

Mrs. Witherspoon became newly concerned. "In one sense, yes," Henry
answered. "It is the love of justice."

Witherspoon called his wife's attention by clearing his throat.
"Madam, I may be wrong, but it strikes me that your son is crazy. Good
night."

Henry left town the next morning. He went to New Jersey.

CHAPTER XXIV.

WORE A ROSE ON HIS COAT.

Henry was absent nearly a week, and upon returning he did not refer to
the business that had so peremptorily called him away. Mrs.
Witherspoon still had a fear that it might be a love affair, and Ellen
had a fear that it might not be. To keep the young woman's interest
alive a mystery was necessary, and to free the mother's love from
anxiety unrestrained frankness was essential. And so there was not
enough of mystery to thrill the girl nor enough of frankness to
satisfy the mother. In this way a week was passed.

"I don't see why you make so much of it," Witherspoon said to his
wife. "Is there anything so strange in a young man's leaving town? Do
you expect him to remain forever within calling distance? He told you
that you should know in due time. What more can you ask? You are
foolishly worried over him, and what is there to worry about?"

"I suppose I am," she answered, "but I'm so much afraid that he'll
marry some girl that I shall not like."

"It's not only that, Caroline. You are simply afraid that he will
marry some girl. The fear of not liking her is a secondary anxiety."

"But, father, you know"--

"Oh, yes, I know. But he is a man--presumably," he added to
himself--"and your love cannot make him a child. It is true that we
were robbed of the pleasure his infancy would have afforded us, but
it's not true that there now exists any way by which that lost
pleasure can be supplied. As for myself, I regret the necessity that
compels me to say that he is far from being a comfort to me. What has
he brought me? Nothing but an additional cause for worry."

"Father, don't say that!"

"But I am compelled to say it. I have pointed out a career to him and
he simply bats his eyes at it. He is the mos