Presently two waiters supported the still stupefied Jack out of the room; a little later Clifford and Mary passed unheeded through the hilarious patrons of Le Minuit, down the stairway, and across the light-flooded sidewalk out into the waiting taxi-cab, in one corner of which Jack huddled limply. Here they sat silent, waiting. Clifford had a sense that it was not the old Mary Regan beside whom he sat--but that new Mary Regan who did not know herself: and he had a sense that, with her at least, big issues were still at stake. Presently another taxi rapidly turned the corner and came to a pause just behind them. Out of this the elder Morton stepped. “Wait here for a moment, please,” Mary said to Clifford. She stepped out upon the brilliant sidewalk--and Clifford looked on, wondering. “Oh, Miss Gilmore!” cried Morton, swiftly coming to her with an eager, expectant smile. “You were an angel to call me up--after not letting me see you for so long! Though,” he quickly added in soft complaint, “it wasn’t very kind of you to run away from me as you did.” “You advised me to leave the Grantham,” she reminded him. “Yes, but I didn’t advise you to go leaving me in ignorance of your whereabouts,” he returned in an amiably hurt tone. “And that--ah--little present: was it kind to return it, without a word, the way you did?” “You mean that ten thousand dollars? I did not need the money.” “No?” He smiled. “I thought a woman always needed money.--Well, my dear, now that I’ve found you again I hope there’ll never be another such dreary hiatus in our friendship. You’re looking--but I’m no poet! And at last I’m to have my answer?” “Yes,” she said quietly. “Good! I’ve had that yacht put in commission. Everything is waiting. When’ll you be ready to go?” “I’m not going,” said Mary. “Not going! The devil you say!” He stared at her white, set face. Dominated by his own pleasant conception of this situation, he had not till then really noted her bearing. He was completely taken aback. “Well--you have your nerve! Then why did you ask me to come over here, and at such an hour?” “I thought you might like to see your son.” “Jack!” he exclaimed. She nodded. “He’s in here”--and moving back a pace she pointed into the car. “My God--Jack!” breathed his father, as he sighted the limp, exhausted figure. Then he saw Clifford. “You, Clifford!” he exclaimed sharply. “Where’d you find him?” Clifford stepped from the car. “I didn’t find him. Miss Gilmore found him.” Morton turned swiftly upon Mary. “So you’ve broken your promise and had him all this time!” he cried harshly. “You brought him to this!” “Hold on, Mr. Morton,” Clifford shot in. “Miss Gilmore had not seen him till to-night. To-night she found him in the drunken company he’s been in for ten days. She got him away from them and sent for you. The least a gentleman--particularly a gentleman who has taken such poor care of his son--can do under the conditions is to try to apologize.”