"If you ever want to come back to us, Graydon, we will welcome you with open arms. It isn't as bad as you think." "You don't understand, Mr. Clegg," was all that Graydon could say. Then he hurried off to face his father. James Bansemer, haggard from loss of sleep and from fury over the alienation of his son, together with the fear of what the day might bring, was pacing the floor of his private office. Droom had eased his mind but little in regard to his son. When he heard Graydon's voice in the outer room, his face brightened and he took several quick steps toward the door. He checked himself suddenly with the remembrance that his son had turned against him the night before, and his face hardened. Graydon found him standing stern and unfriendly before the steam radiator in the darkest corner of the room, his hands behind his back. The young man plumped down heavily in his father's desk chair. "Why didn't you come home last night?" demanded the other. "I hated the thought of it," he answered dejectedly. "You've listened to their side of the story. You're a splendid son, you are!" sneered the father. "There is nothing base and unprincipled in their side of the story. They have tried to shield her; they have never harmed her. But you! Why, father, you've blighted her life forever. They were going to tell her in a day or so, and they could have made it easy for her. Not like this! Why, in Heaven's name, did you strike her like that? She's--she's the talk of the town. She's ostracised, that's what she is, and she's the best girl that ever lived." "Oh, you think they would have told her, eh? No! They would have let her marry---" "Well, and what was your position? Why were you so considerate up to last night? If you knew, why did you let me go on so blindly? The truth is, father, if you must have it, you have acted like a damned scoundrel." James Bansemer glared at his son with murder in his eyes. "I wouldn't have believed the other things they say of you if I hadn't this to break down my faith. I heard this with my own ears. It was too contemptible to forget in a lifetime. I did not come here to discuss it with you. The thing is done. I came here to tell you that I am going to leave Chicago. You WON'T go, so I will." Bansemer still glared at him, but there was amazement mingling with rage in his eyes. "I can't look a soul in the face. I am ashamed to meet the Cables. Good Lord, I'm afraid even to think of Jane." "I suppose you-you would marry her, like a fool, even now," muttered the father.