ed by the other's temper.

"Oh, no! The early morning train has the connections I want for Arizona,"
he answered casually, as if he were far from being in any hurry. "I was
taking a walk, and happening to turn into Madison Avenue I found myself
in front of the house. It occurred to me what a lot I had heard about
that ancestor, and seeing a light in the library, and considering how
late it was, I thought I might have a glimpse of him without
inconveniencing any other member of the family. Do you mind?"

He put the question with an inflection that was at once engaging and
confident.

"Mind!" gasped John Wingfield, Sr.

"I am sure you do not!" Prather returned. Now a certain deference and a
certain pungency of satire ran together in his tone, the mixture being
nicely and pleasurably controlled. "Is it in there, in the drawing-room?"

"And then what else? Where do you mean to end? I thought that--"

"Nothing else," Prather interrupted reassuringly. "Everything is settled,
of course. This is sort of a farewell privilege."

"Yes, in there!" snapped John Wingfield, Sr. "It's the picture on the
other side of the mantel. I will wait here--and be quick, quick, I tell
you! I want you out of this house! I've done enough! I--"

"Thanks! It is very good-natured of you!"

John Prather passed leisurely into the drawing-room and John Wingfield,
Sr. stood guard by the door, his hand gripping the heavy portieres for
support, while his gaze was steadily fixed at a point in the turn of the
stairs just below where Jack was obscured in the shadow. His face was
drawn and ashen against the deep red of the hangings, and torment and
fear and defiance, now one and then the other, were in ascendency over
the features which Jack had always associated with composed and
unchanging mastery until he had seen them illumined with affection only
an hour before. And the father had said that he had never met or heard of
John Prather! The father had said so quietly, decidedly, without
hesitation! This one thought kept repeating itself to Jack's stunned
brain as he leaned against the wall limp from a blow that admits of no
aggressive return.

"The ancestor certainly must have been a snappy member of society in his
time! It has been delightful to have a look at him," said John Prather,
as he came out of the drawing-room.

He paused as he spoke. He was still smiling. The mole on his cheek was
toward the stairway; and it seemed to heighten the satire