"Well, you've asked a good many questions about this Jacobs, and wondered what had become of him. I fancy you have the answer in that paragraph." There was a pause, and Dudley seemed to recollect something. Then he said: "Oh, yes, I think I have. The man has fallen upon bad times, evidently. I--I--I'm sorry for his wife." "And the man himself--haven't you forgiven him yet?" Dudley started, and glanced quickly round, as if the simple words had been an accusation. "Forgiven him? Oh, yes, long ago. At least--" He paused a moment, and then added, inquiringly: "What had I to forgive?" "Well, to tell the truth, Horne, that's just what I have often asked myself, when you have insisted upon raking up all the details of poor Jacobs's misdeeds! Why, your poor father, who was ruined by his dishonesty, never showed half the animosity you do. I could have understood it if you had suffered by his frauds. But have you? You have been well educated; you have started well in life. And on the whole, no man who has arrived at your age can honestly say that it would have been better for him to start life with a fortune at his back, eh?" "No." Dudley got up from his chair. He seemed agitated and uneasy, and soon took advantage of Mr. Wedmore's suggestion, somewhat dryly made, that he was tired after his journey and would like to go to bed. When he had left the room, Mr. Wedmore turned angrily to his daughter. "Now, Doreen, I will have no more of this nonsense. Dudley is beginning all the old tricks over again--absence of mind, indifference to you--did he even look at you as he said good night?--and morbid interest in this old, forgotten business of Jacobs and his misdoings. I won't have any more of it, and I shall tell him plainly that we don't care to have him down here until he can bring a livelier face and manner with him!" Doreen had risen from her humble seat on the floor and had crawled on her knees to the side of his chair, where she slid a coaxing, caressing hand under his arm and put her pretty head gently down on his shoulder. "No, you won't, papa dear. You won't do anything of the kind," she whispered in his ear very softly, very humbly. "You would not do anything to give pain to your old friend's son if you could help it, and you would not do anything to hurt your own child, your little Doreen, for a hundred thousand pounds, now would you?" "Yes, I would, if it was for her good," replied Mr. Wedmore, in a very loud and determined voice, which was supposed to have the effect of frightening her into submission. "And it's all rubbish to think to get around me by calling yourself 'little Doreen,' when you're a great, big, overgrown lamp-post of a girl, who can take her own part against the whole county." Doreen laughed, but still clung persistently to the arm which he pretended to try to release from her clutches.