Annie, who had been listening intently, at once saw her opportunity. Mr. Jeffries had taken no notice of her presence, believing her to be a newspaper writer like the others. As the reporters took their departure and filed out of the room, she remained behind. As the last one disappeared she turned to the banker and said: "May I speak to you a moment?" He turned quickly and looked at her in surprise. For the first time he was conscious of her presence. Bowing courteously, he shook his head: "I am afraid I can do nothing for you, madam--as I've just explained to your confreres of the press." Annie looked up at him, and said boldly: "I am not a reporter, Mr. Jeffries. I am your son's wife." The banker started back in amazement. This woman, whom he had taken for a newspaper reporter, was an interloper, an impostor, the very last woman in the world whom he would have permitted to be admitted to his house. He considered that she, as much as anybody else, had contributed to his son's ruin. Yet what could he do? She was there, and he was too much of a gentleman to have her turned out bodily. Wondering at his silence, she repeated softly: "I'm your son's wife, Mr. Jeffries." The banker looked at her a moment, as if taking her in from head to foot. Then he said coldly: "Madam, I have no son." He hesitated, and added: "I don't recognize----" She looked at him pleadingly. "But I want to speak to you, sir." Mr. Jeffries shook his head, and moved toward the door. "I repeat, I have nothing to say." Annie planted herself directly in his path. He could not reach the door unless he removed her forcibly. "Mr. Jeffries," she said earnestly, "please don't refuse to hear me--please----" He halted, looking as if he would like to escape, but there was no way of egress. This determined-looking young woman had him at a disadvantage. "I do not think," he said icily, "that there is any subject which can be of mutual interest----" "Oh, yes, there is," she replied eagerly. She was quick to take advantage of this entering wedge into the man's mantle of cold reserve. "Flesh and blood," she went on earnestly, "is of mutual interest. Your son is yours whether you cast him off or not. You've got to hear me. I am not asking anything for myself. It's for him, your son. He's in trouble. Don't desert him at a moment like this. Whatever he may have done to deserve your anger--don't--don't deal him such a blow. You cannot realize what it means in such a critical situation. Even if you only pretend to be friendly with him--you don't need to really be friends with him. But don't you see what the effect will be if you, his father, publicly withdraw from his support? Everybody will say he's no good, that he can't be any good or his father wouldn't go back on him. You know what the world is. People will condemn him because you condemn him. They won't even give him a hearing. For God's sake, don't go back on him now!"