Evelyn had risen to greet the judge, while the gambler turned to give him an easy nod. A smile hid itself in the shadow of his black mustache; he was feeling very sure of himself and surer still of Evelyn. The disfavor or approval of this slight man of sixty meant nothing to him. "How do you do, sir!" said the judge with icy civility. Had he met Gilmore on the street he would not have spoken to him. As he slowly withdrew his eyes from the gambler, he said to his son: "Can you spare me a moment or two, Marshall?" "Come into the library," and Marshall led the way from the room. They walked the length of the hall in silence, Marshall a step or two in advance of the judge. He knew his father was there on no trivial errand. This visit was the result of his interview with Joe Montgomery. How much had the handy-man told him? This was the question that had been revolving in his mind for the last two days, and he was about to find an answer to it. The father and son entered the room, each heavily preoccupied. Marshall seated himself and stared moodily into the fire. Already the judge had found a chair and his glance was fixed on the carpet at his feet. Presently looking up he asked: "Will you be good enough to tell me what that fellow is doing here?" "Andy?" The single word came from Langham as with a weary acceptance of his father's anger. "Yes, certainly--Gilmore--of whom do you imagine me to be speaking?" "Give a dog a bad name--" "He has earned his name. I had heard something of this but did not credit it!" said the judge. There was another pause. "Perhaps you will be good enough to explain how I happen to meet that fellow here?" The judge regarded his son fixedly. There had always existed a cordial frankness in their intercourse, for though the judge was a man of few intimacies, family ties meant much to him, and these ties were now all centered in his son. He had shown infinite patience with Marshall's turbulent youth; an even greater patience with his dissipated manhood; he believed that in spite of the terrible drafts he was making on his energies, his future would not be lacking in solid and worthy achievement. In his own case the traditional vice of the Langhams had passed him by. He was grateful for this, but it had never provoked in him any spirit of self-righteousness; indeed, it had only made him the more tender in his judgment of his son's lapses. "Marshall--" and the tone of anger had quite faded from his voice--"Marshall, what is that fellow's hold on you?" "You would not appreciate Andy's peculiar virtues even if I were to try to describe them," said Marshall with a smile of sardonic humor. "Do you consider him the right sort of a person to bring into your home?" "It won't hurt him!" said Marshall. The judge, with a look on his face that mingled astonishment and injury, sank back in his chair. He never attempted anything that even faintly suggested flippancy, and he was unappreciative of this tendency in others.