The old man pointed toward the door, and Howard walked slowly out. His mother stood in the hall. Her eyes were tearful, and taking his arm she held it as if she would say something, but liberated him, motioned him away, and went into the office. The Judge got up, forcing a change upon his countenance, smiled at her, took her hand and led her to a chair. "Now, don’t be worried," said he. "I merely reprimanded Howard, as I had a right to do, for sending an old fool, who calls himself a doctor, out here to see me. That’s all." [Illustration: The old man pointed toward the door, and Howard walked slowly out.] "But what did you mean by calling him an actor? What has he done that he should be acting now?" "Nothing—nothing at all, I assure you." "You said he was acting," she persisted. "Perhaps I did, but I didn’t mean it. Oh, yes, acting as if he didn’t care for the memories of the old office." "But, dear, something has come between you and Howard. What is it?" "Between us, my dear? Surely not. We don’t agree on all points; he has his opinions and I have mine; but there is no serious difference between us. Come, I will show you. He and I will eat dinner together." He led her to the dining room, where Howard sat moodily looking at the table. He glanced up, and the Judge waved his hand with something of his old-time graciousness. "Any callers today, Howard?" he asked, sitting down. "Goyle, whom I am beginning not to like, and Mr. Bradley." "Whom you cannot help but like. A good man, conscientious and yet not creed-bound." "He is building up a great church," said Mrs. Elbridge. "It is almost impossible to get a seat." "Ah, I don’t attend as regularly as I should," remarked the Judge, "but I am going to mend my ways. Howard, shall we go together soon?" "I shall be delighted, sir." "Then let us appoint an early day." The father and the son laughed with each other, and to the mother it was as if new strings, to replace broken ones, had been put upon an old guitar, and she was happy merely to listen; but soon she was called away, attendant upon some duty, and then a darkness fell upon the old man’s countenance. "Enough of this," he said. And there was more than surprise in the look which Howard gave him—there was grief in it. "Then your good humor was assumed," he replied. "We may assume good humor as we assume honesty—for policy," the Judge rejoined. "I swear I don’t understand you." "Then don’t strive to do so when your mother is present. At such times, take me as you find me." "My pleasure just now was real. It is a grief to know that yours was not. I was in hopes that our difference, whatever it is, for I don’t know, was at an end. You led me to believe so." "Lay no store by what you suppose I lead you to believe. When our difference shall reach an end, if such a thing is possible, I will tell you." "Then you acknowledge a difference." "I have not denied it." "And you will not tell what it is?"