rotested. "You have
known me for three months at least, and any one who knows me in Chicago
will tell you--"

"A stranger, and worse than a stranger," the general continued, so
pleased with the logical perfection of his position that he almost
smiled, and certainly softened toward Burnamy. "It isn't a question of
liking you, Mr. Burnamy, but of knowing you; my daughter likes you; so do
the Marches; so does everybody who has met you. I like you myself. You've
done me personally a thousand kindnesses. But I know very little of you,
in spite of our three months' acquaintance; and that little is--But you
shall judge for yourself! You were in the confidential employ of a man
who trusted you, and you let him betray himself."

"I did. I don't excuse it. The thought of it burns like fire. But it
wasn't done maliciously; it wasn't done falsely; it was done
inconsiderately; and when it was done, it seemed irrevocable. But it
wasn't; I could have prevented, I could have stooped the mischief; and I
didn't! I can never outlive that."

"I know," said the general relentlessly, "that you have never attempted
any defence. That has been to your credit with me. It inclined me to
overlook your unwarranted course in writing to my daughter, when you told
her you would never see her again. What did you expect me to think, after
that, of your coming back to see her? Or didn't you expect me to know
it?"

"I expected you to know it; I knew she would tell you. But I don't excuse
that, either. It was acting a lie to come back. All I can say is that I
had to see her again for one last time."

"And to make sure that it was to be the last time, you offered yourself
to her."

"I couldn't help doing that."

"I don't say you could. I don't judge the facts at all. I leave them
altogether to you; and you shall say what a man in my position ought to
say to such a man as you have shown yourself."

"No, I will say." The door into the adjoining room was flung open, and
Agatha flashed in from it.

Her father looked coldly at her impassioned face. "Have you been
listening?" he asked.

"I have been hearing--"

"Oh!" As nearly as a man could, in bed, General Triscoe shrugged.

"I suppose I had, a right to be in my own room. I couldn't help hearing;
and I was perfectly astonished at you, papa, the cruel way you went on,
after all you've said about Mr. Stoller, and his getting no more than he
deserved."

"That doesn't justify me," Burnamy began, b