who had a
right to stop it, it would be a very good thing to let that person know
about her--about this child, I mean; the one who made the hit--before
it was too late. It seems to me a responsibility I wouldn't care to
take myself. I wouldn't care to think that I had the chance to stop
it, and had let the chance go by. You know what the life is, and what
the temptation a woman--" Van Bibber stopped with a gasp of concern,
and added, hurriedly, "I mean we all know--every man knows."

Mr. Caruthers was looking at him with his lips pressed closely
together, and his eyebrows drawn into the shape of the letter V. He
leaned forward, and looked at Van Bibber intently.

"What is all this about?" he asked. "Did you come here, Mr. Van
Bibber, simply to tell me this? What have you to do with it? What
have I to do with it? Why did you come?"

"Because of the child."

"What child?"

"Your child," said Van Bibber.

Young Van Bibber was quite prepared for an outbreak of some sort, and
mentally braced himself to receive it. He rapidly assured himself that
this man had every reason to be angry, and that he, if he meant to
accomplish anything, had every reason to be considerate and patient.
So he faced Mr. Caruthers with shoulders squared, as though it were a
physical shock he had to stand against, and in consequence he was quite
unprepared for what followed. For Mr. Caruthers raised his face
without a trace of feeling in it, and, with his eyes still fixed on the
glass in his hand, set it carefully down on the mantel beside him, and
girded himself about with the rope of his robe. When he spoke, it was
in a tone of quiet politeness.

"Mr. Van Bibber," he began, "you are a very brave young man. You have
dared to say to me what those who are my best friends--what even my own
family--would not care to say. They are afraid it might hurt me, I
suppose. They have some absurd regard for my feelings; they hesitate
to touch upon a subject which in no way concerns them, and which they
know must be very painful to me. But you have the courage of your
convictions; you have no compunctions about tearing open old wounds;
and you come here, unasked and uninvited, to let me know what you think
of my conduct, to let me understand that it does not agree with your
own ideas of what I ought to do, and to tell me how I, who am old
enough to be your father, should behave. You have rushed in where
angels fear to tread, Mr. Van Bibber,