"Oh, I admit that the A's had better suffer for their sins; but I doubt if the punishment which a man gets against his will is the right kind of suffering. If this man had come forward voluntarily, and offered to bear the penalty he had risked by his misdeed, it would have been a good thing for himself and for everybody else; it would have been a real warning. But he ran away." "And so he ought to be allowed to stay away! You are a pretty Dogberry come to judgment! You would convict a thief by letting him steal out of your company." "It seems to me that's what you did, father. And I think you did right, as I've told you." "What _I_ did?" shouted Hilary. "No, sir, I did nothing of the kind! I gave him a chance to make himself an honest man--" "My dear," said Mrs. Hilary, "you _must_ go and get rid of that woman, at least; or let _me_." Hilary flung down his napkin, and red from argument cast a dazed look about him, and without really quite knowing what he was about rushed out of the room. His wife hardly had time to say, "You oughtn't to have got into a dispute with your father, Matt, when you know he's been so perplexed," before they heard his voice call out, "Good heavens, my poor child!" For the present they could not know that this was a cry of dismay at the apparition of Suzette Northwick, who met him in the reception-room with the demand: "What is this about my father, Mr. Hilary?" "About your father, my dear?" He took the hands she put out to him with her words, and tried to think what pitying and helpful thing he could say. She got them away from him, and held one fast with the other. "Is it true?" she asked. He permitted himself the pretence of not understanding her; he had to do it. "Why, we hope--we hope it isn't true. Nothing more is known about his being in the accident than we knew at first. Didn't Matt--" "It isn't _that_. It's worse than that. It's that other thing--that the papers say--that he was a defaulter--dishonest. Is _that_ true?" "Oh, no, no! Nothing of the kind, my dear!" Hilary had to say this; he felt that it would be inhuman to say anything else; nothing else would have been possible. "Those newspapers--confound them!--you know how they get things all--You needn't mind what the papers say." "But why should they say anything about my father, at such a time, when he's--What does it all mean, Mr. Hilary? I don't believe the papers, and so I came to you--as soon as I could, this morning. I knew you would tell me the truth. You have known my father so long; and you know how _good_ he is! I--You know that he never wronged any one--that he _couldn't_!" "Of course, of course!" said Hilary. "It was quite right to come to me--quite right. How--how is your sister? You must stay, now--Louise isn't down, yet--and have breakfast with her. I've just left Mrs. Hilary at the table. You must join us. She can assure you--Matt is quite confident that there's nothing to be distressed about in regard to the--He--"