Thereupon Mr. Anderson blew his nose by way of gathering his faculties for the crucial words as a carter rests his horse before mounting the final hill when the sledding is hard. “I’m going to tell you how I made my first start. I was a clerk in a bank and sharp as a needle in forecasting what was going to happen downtown. I used to say to myself that if I had capital it would be easy to make money breed money. Well, one day I borrowed from the bank, without the bank’s leave, $3,000 in order to speculate. I won on that deal and the next and the next. Then I was able to return what I’d borrowed and to set up in a small way for myself in the furniture business. That was my start, ladies--the nest-egg of all I’ve got.” He sat back in his chair and passed his handkerchief across his forehead like one who has performed with credit an agonizing duty. There was silence for a moment. Unequivocal as the confession was, Miss Rebecca, reluctant to believe her ears, asked with characteristic bluntness: “You mean that you--er--misappropriated the money?” “I was an embezzler, strictly speaking.” “I see.” “Perhaps you wonder why I told you this,” he said, bending forward. “No, we understand,” said Miss Rebecca. “We understand perfectly,” exclaimed Miss Carry with gentle warmth. “It’s very honest of you, Mr. Anderson,” said Miss Rebecca after a musing pause. “I’ve never been dishonest since then,” he remarked naïvely. “But a year ago I wouldn’t have told you this, though it’s been in the back of my mind as a rankling sore, growing as I grew in wealth and respectability. I made a bluff at believing that it didn’t matter, and that a thing done has an end. Well, now I’ve made a clean breast of it to the ones who have a right to know. I should like you to tell Mabel.” As he spoke the lovers appeared in the near distance at the edge of the lawn, coming up from the beach. “But I don’t think it will be necessary to tell my son,” he added yearningly. “Certainly _not_” said Miss Rebecca with emphasis. The sisters exchanged glances, trying to read each other’s thoughts. “It’s a blot in the ‘scutcheon, of course,” said Miss Rebecca. “It’s for our niece to say.” But there was no sternness in her tone. This gave Miss Carry courage. Her hand shook a little as she put down her teacup, for she was shy of taking the initiative. “I think I know what she would say. In our time it would probably have been different, on account of the family--and heredity; but Mabel is a modern girl. And a modern girl would say that she isn’t to marry the father but the son. She loves him, so I’m certain she would never give him up. Therefore is it best to tell her?” Daniel Anderson’s face was illumined with the light of hope, and he turned to the elder sister, whom he recognized as the final judge. Miss Rebecca sniffed. Her ideas of everlasting justice were a little disconcerted. Nevertheless she said firmly after brief hesitation: