Ralston scarcely realized how strongly the man was attached to him. Embittered as he was by being constantly regarded as the failure of the family, he could hardly believe that any one but his mother and Katharine cared what became of him. A young man who has wasted three or four years in fruitless, if not very terrible, dissipation, whose nerves are a trifle affected by habits as yet by no means incurable, and who has had the word ‘failure’ daily branded upon him by his discriminating relatives, easily believes that for him life is over, and that he can never redeem the time lost--for he is constantly reminded of this by persons who should know better. And if he is somewhat melancholic by nature, he is very ready to think that the future holds but two possibilities,--the love of woman so long as it may last, and an easy death of some sort when there is no more love. That was approximately John Ralston’s state of mind as he ascended the steps of Robert Lauderdale’s house on that Thursday afternoon. CHAPTER XIX. Ralston shook himself and stamped his feet softly upon the rug as he took off his overcoat in the hall of Robert Lauderdale’s house. He was conscious that he was nervous and tried to restore the balance of forces by a physical effort, but he was not very successful. The man went before him and ushered him into the same room in which Katharine had been received that morning. The windows were already shut, and several shaded lamps shed a soft light upon the bookcases, the great desk and the solid central figure of the great man. Ralston had not passed the threshold before he was conscious that Katharine was not present, as he had hoped that she might be. His excitement gave place once more to the cold sensation of something infinitely disappointing, as he took the old gentleman’s hand and then sat down in a stiff, high-backed chair opposite to him--to be ‘looked over,’ he said to himself. “So you’re married,” said Robert Lauderdale, abruptly opening the conversation. “Then you’ve seen Katharine,” answered the young man. “I wasn’t sure you had.” “Hasn’t she told you?” “No. I was to have seen her this afternoon, but--she couldn’t do more than tell me that she would talk it all over this evening.” “Oh!” ejaculated the old man. “That rather alters the case.” “How?” enquired Ralston, whose bad temper made him instinctively choose to understand as little as possible of what was said. “Well, in this way, my dear boy. Katharine and I had a long interview this morning, and as I supposed you must have met before now, I naturally thought she had explained things to you.” “What things?” asked Ralston, doggedly. “Oh, well! If I’ve got to go through the whole affair again--” The old man stopped abruptly and tapped the table with his big fingers, looking across the room at one of the lamps. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Ralston. “If you’ll tell me why you sent for me that will be quite enough.”