"She can't wait--it's impossible," blurted out the son. "That's why I'm here to-day; that's what my responsibility means, I must marry her--and at once." His father took a step towards him, and looked into his face; drew his breath sharply. "You mean----" Charlie nodded slowly, without looking up. His father looked at him for a long minute, and then turned and walked to the door, and opened it. He seemed to brace himself in a curious fashion for what he had to say, but he was none the less resolute in his determination to say it. He seemed, as he drew himself up, to look taller than Charlie had ever seen him. "So this is the meaning of your new resolution--of your sudden desire to get into a decent position, and to secure some money--is it?" he asked. "Not content with the wrong you have done yourself, and the shame you have brought upon me, you have involved some wretched woman in deeper shame yet." "She's a good woman," muttered Charlie. "That is impossible," retorted the other quickly. "But I will not discuss the matter with you; I have finished with you for good and all. Get out of my house." He pointed to the door as he spoke, but kept his face averted from his son. "Oh, very well." Charlie lounged towards the door, stopped for a moment close to the old man to speak. "You'll do nothing for me--or for her?" "Your companions and your friends do not concern me. Your duty, which you appear to know so clearly, points you straight to her, and demands that you shall do her justice and shall marry her; but with that I have nothing to do." "Very good." Charlie heaved a deep sigh, and turned towards the open door. "I've promised her it'll be all right--and I'll keep my word, even if we starve together. And I hope you'll never remember, at some time when you'd be glad to forget, what you've said to me. Good-bye--and this for the last time." He flung out of the house, and across the garden, and disappeared into the wind-swept road. After a moment of silence the old man turned, and put a hand across his eyes; then swayed to the door, and went out quickly. "Charlie!" he called. "Charlie!" But there was no response, and the garden and the road seemed empty. Charlie paced the station for an hour or more, waiting for a train to take him back to London; and the longer he paced, and the more he thought about matters, the deeper and the more fixed became his resolution to do that right thing on which he had set his mind, and regarding which he had made so many promises. Even in the railway carriage at last, on his way back to London, he nodded across at the opposite seat, as though the girl sat there and could hear him, and told her what he would do.