He sat down and stared at the fire. Dick remained standing. "She doesn't
intend to see me at all?" he asked, unsteadily.

"That's rather out of the question, if you intend to remain here. Do
you?"

"Yes."

An unexpected feeling of sympathy for the tall young man on the hearth
rug stirred in Walter Wheeler's breast.

"I'm sorry, Dick. She apparently reached the breaking point a week or
two ago. She knew you had been here and hadn't seen her, for one thing."
He hesitated. "You've heard of her engagement?"

"Yes."

"I didn't want it," her father said drearily. "I suppose she knows her
own business, but the thing's done. She sent you a message," he added
after a pause. "She's glad it's cleared up and I believe you are not to
allow her to drive you away. She thinks David needs you."

"Thank you. I'll have to stay, as she says."

There was another uncomfortable silence. Then Walter Wheeler burst out: "Confound it, Dick, I'm sorry. I've fought your battles for months,
not here, but everywhere. But here's a battle I can't fight. She isn't
angry. You'll have to get her angle of it. I think it's something like
this. She had built you up into a sort of superman. And she's--well, I
suppose purity is the word. She's the essence of purity. Then, Leslie
told me this to-night, she learned from him that you were back with the
woman in the case, in New York."