Ben Blair

The light of understanding came to the city man. "I see," he observed. "He is gone, and you--"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Sidwell," interrupted the other, "but suppose we change the subject?"

Sidwell colored, then he laughed. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Blair. No offence was intended, I assure you. Mr. Rankin interested me, that was all."

Again Ben said nothing, and the conversation lapsed.

Meanwhile within doors another drama had been taking place. A very discomposed young lady had met Scotty just out of hearing.

"What made you stop Mr. Sidwell, papa?" she asked indignantly. "Why didn't you let him come in?"

"Because I didn't choose to," explained Scotty, bluntly.

"But I wanted him to," she said imperiously. "I don't care to see Ben to-night."

Her father looked at her steadily. "And I wish you to see him," he insisted. "You must be hypnotized to behave the way you're doing! You forget yourself completely!"

The brown eyes of the girl flashed. "And you forget yourself! I'm no longer a child! I won't see him to-night unless I wish to!"

Easy-going Scotty was aroused. His weak chin set stubbornly.

"Very well. You will see neither of them, then. I won't have a man insulted without cause in my own house. I'll tell them both you're sick."

"If you do," flamed Florence, "I'll never forgive you! You're--horrid, if you are my father. I--" She took refuge in tears. "Oh, you ought to be ashamed to treat your daughter so!"

The Englishman flicked a speck of ash off his lounging coat. "I am ashamed," he admitted; "but not of what you suggest." He turned toward the door.

"Daddy," said a pleading voice, "don't you--care for me any more?"

An expression the daughter had never seen before, but one that ever after haunted her, flashed over the father's face.

"Care for you?" he exclaimed. "Care for you? That is just the trouble! I care for you--have always cared for you--too much. I have sacrificed my self-respect to humor you, and it's all been a mistake. I see it now too late."

For a moment the two looked at each other; then the girl brushed past him. "Very well," she said calmly, "if I must see them both, at least permit me to see them by myself."

The men on the porch arose as Florence appeared. Their manner of doing so was characteristic of each. Sidwell got to his feet languidly, a bit stiffly. He had not forgotten the past week. Ben Blair arose respectfully, almost reverently, unconscious that he was following a mere social form. Six months had passed since he had seen this little woman, and his soul was in his eyes as he looked at her.