"Yes, I had a son," said Mr. Manners, "who disappointed and disobeyed me." "Children have no appreciation of the sacrifices parents make for them. I am sorry for you. I should not have spoken of him but for a reference made by the man who has just left us. "Yes; he spoke of a Mrs. Manners. The name is not a common one, and it may be--" He broke off here. "Mr. Hollingworth, it is not correct for me to say that my son disobeyed me, and you must not suppose that he was guilty of a dishonorable action. He was incapable of it." "Is he living still?" asked Mr. Hollingworth, laying his hand sympathizingly on his guest's shoulder. "I do not know. I have heard nothing of him for years. We will not pursue the subject; it is too painful, and I am waited for below. With respect to Mr. Inglefield, your best course will be to see or write to him. There need be no disguise. I myself shall speak to him, and shall mention names plainly." "I will write to him to-night; he must know at once that his visits here are at an end, unless he has been maligned." Mr. Manners found Mr. Parkinson waiting for him in the street. "I could not stop in the house," he said, "there is something about it that suffocates me." "I intended to ask you to walk with me to mine," said Mr. Manners. "I will walk with you, but I refuse to enter it," rejoined Mr. Parkinson, roughly. "You are, of course, a rich man." "Yes, I am rich." "I am poor, and I will keep my place. It would be better for all of us if every man did the same. We can talk in the streets. It will serve some good purpose, you said. I ask nothing for myself, mind, nothing but justice." "In the sad story you have told," said Mr. Manners, "you spoke of a woman who was kind to your daughter." "I did, and what I said of her is true. She is an angel of goodness, and she saved my daughter, body and soul. See here, sir. I am not a church-going man, and I hate sanctimonious people, but I am not a heathen either. There's some kind of a power that made the world and sent us into it for some purpose. I often wonder what, when I think of things. And there's a hereafter, and I'm glad to know it. I'll tell you why I'm glad. Because, if that scoundrel who ruined my daughter escapes his punishment here--and I'll do my best that he sha'n't--but if he _does_ escape it here, he'll meet it there! That's a satisfaction to me, and the thought of it will make me religious. I'll go to church next Sunday." "My object in speaking to you now," said Mr. Manners, "is to obtain information of Mrs. Manners. I gathered from what you said that she is poor." "Very poor," said Mr. Parkinson, "and that stands to her credit here, and 'll stand to her credit in the next world--if there's any justice there." "In what way does it stand to her credit?" Mr. Parkinson stopped suddenly to look at Mr. Manners's face, upon which the light of a street lamp was shining. "You are asking close questions," he said, "and I'm getting suspicious of people."