Danny broke his query abruptly, for the other straightened with a half-spoken word that was, at the least, utmost impatience; possibly a word which, fully uttered, would have expressed disgust, perhaps--even loathing! And on Danny was turned such a mask as he had never seen before. The cleanly shaven face was dark. The cold blue eyes flashed a chill fire and the grim slit of a tightly closed mouth twitched, as did the fingers at the skirts of the immaculate coat. Lenox senior backed away, putting out a hand to the table, edging along until a corner of it was between himself and his heir. Then the hand, fingers stiffly extended, pressed against the table top. It trembled. The boy flushed, then smiled, then sobered. On the thought of what seemed to him the certain answer to the strangeness of this reception, his voice broke the stillness, filled with solicitude. "Did I startle you?" he asked, and a smile broke through his concern. "You jumped as though--" Again he broke short. His father's right hand, palm outward, was raised toward him and moved quickly from side to side. That gesture meant silence! Danny had seen it used twice before--once when a man of political power had let his angered talk rise in the Lenox house until it became disquieting; once when a man came there to plead. And the gesture on those occasions had carried the same quiet, ominous conviction that it now impressed on Danny. The voice of the old man was cold and hard, almost brittle for lack of feeling. "How much will you take to go?" he asked, and breathed twice loudly, as though struggling to hold back a bursting emotion. Danny leaned slightly forward from his hips and wrinkled his face in his inability to understand. "What?" He drawled out the word. "Once more, please?" "How much will you take to go?" Again the crackling, colorless query, by its chill strength narrowing even the thought which must transpire in the presence of the speaker. "How much will I take to go?" repeated Danny. "How much what? To go where?" Lenox senior blinked, and his face darkened. His voice lost some of its edge, became a trifle muffled, as though the emotion he had breathed hard to suppress had come up into his throat and adhered gummily to the words. "How much money--how much money will you take to go away from here? Away from me? Away from New York? Out of my sight--out of my way?" Once more the fingers pressed the table top and the fighting jaw of the gray-haired man protruded slowly as the younger drew nearer a faltering step, two--three, until he found support against the table. There across the corner of the heavy piece of furniture they peered at each other; one in silent, mighty rage; the other with eyes widening, quick, confusing lights playing across their depths as he strove to refuse the understanding. "How much money--to go away from New York--from you? Out of your _way_?"