Ford and Miriam exchanged swift glances. She shook her head, and he took his cue.
"I happened to see it in a—a sort of—paper. I had no idea it was that of a real person. I fancied it had come out of a novel—- or something like that. I didn't mean to keep it, but it got fastened on me."
"Very odd," was his only comment. "Isn't it, Miriam?
"Now," he added, "I suppose you've had all you want of me, so I'll say good-night."
He held out his hand, which Ford grasped, clinched rather, in both his own.
"God bless you!" Wayne murmured, still tremulously. "God bless you—my boy, and bring everything out right. Miriam, I suppose you'll come in and see me before you go to bed."
They watched him shuffle his way out of the room, and watched the door long after he had closed it. When at last Miriam turned her eyes on Ford they were luminous with the relief of her own defeat.
"You see!" she cried, triumphantly. "You see the difference between him and me—between his spirit and mine! Now which of us was right?"
"You were."