“Certainly. My office is always open: but remember, it is an unconditional surrender now. I’ll have no more parleying.” “Good-by,” said Marsten briefly, turning on his heel and hurrying to the gate, father and daughter watching him until he disappeared. Sartwell sank down in one of the chairs, murmuring as he did so: “Thank God!” “Why do you say that, father?” “Say what? Oh! Because a certain tension has been relaxed. I have seen Hope and Monkton off together for Germany this morning, and they will be gone for at least a fortnight. This leaves me a clear field, and I will crush this strike as I would an eggshell.” Sartwell nervously clenched his right hand, as if the egg-shell were within it. “I am sorry for the men, father.” “So am I, my dear, if they stand out; but it will be their own fault. Experience is said to teach a specified class of individuals, and they are preparing for themselves a bitter dose of it.” “Will you’ not take him back, even if they hold out?” “Him? Whom? Oh! Marsten. If they do not come back in a body, I will never allow another Union man to set foot in the works again. But never mind the men; I want to talk about yourself.” “About me?” “Yes About the situation here at home. It is not exactly what I wish it to be, and I intend to try an experiment.” “Do you mean what happened yesterday between mother and me?” “I mean the whole situation. What happened yesterday was merely an indication of the tendency--I don’t know just how to put it, but it isn’t satisfactory.” “I was at fault, father, as I said last night; I was worried and anxious--that is no excuse, of course--and then I said things I shouldn’t have said. I was sorry at once, but I am more sorry now when I see I have troubled you. It won’t happen again. I shall be very careful in future, and I am sure if you think no more about it I shall do better.” “My dear Edna, I am not blaming you in the least, nor do I think you were at fault; that is, not entirely. I am not censuring any one; we are as God made us, and there are differences of temperament which sometimes cause friction. You are not having a fair chance just now. I care very little about your mother’s friends, and I have few friends myself; thus you have no companions of your own age whom you can have here, and whose visits you can return, as is right and proper. You are thrown too much on your mother and me for your friendship, and I am not sure that either of us is suitable. You are at an impressionable time of life, and I want to do my best for you; so I think I shall send you to some school where you will meet nice girls and form friendships that you will enjoy. Then you have a decided talent for music, which will be developed, and--there are many reasons for such a step.” “Do you mean that I shall have to leave home?” asked Edna, with a tremour in her voice. “I think that will be best. In a year or two you will look upon life with perhaps more philosophy.”