“I told you I’d do anything, dad.”
“Anything? What good will that do? You and Caretall—laughing at me! I won’t stand it! I’ll break Caretall if it kills me. Caretall is a scoundrel, a crook. He’s debauched the town....”
He stopped suddenly, he became cold and still. “Come down to supper, Wint,” he said shortly. “After that, you can get out. I’ve warned you enough—the last time. I’m through.”
Wint stiffened. “Dad....” he said softly.
His father made a fierce gesture. “Be quiet! I tell you I am through.” He whirled to the door, and opened it, and was gone before Wint could speak again. But while Wint still stood quiet, he returned and called: “I know where you were last night. That was enough. That alone. I’m through. Through!”
This time he did not return. And Wint waited for a space, and then, mechanically and automatically, he picked up his hat, and put it on, and went down the stairs. His mother and father were in the dining-room. He heard his mother’s voice. But he did not go in.
He went to the door and out, and down the walk to the street. As he reached the pavement, the door opened behind him, and he looked back and saw his father standing there. For a moment, the two looked at each other; then the elder man turned his head, and went back into the house and closed the door.
Wint walked steadily down the street. He did not know where he was to go; he did not think of this. And so it was without his own volition that he came to Joan’s home, and saw the girl sitting in a chair upon the veranda, a book in her lap.
Her eyes met his. Her eyes were very serious and sad; but Wint turned in, and came to the steps, and stood there before her. She smiled a little wistfully; and he said, under his breath: “Joan.”
She made no move to answer him. He said again: “Joan....” And then: “Joan....”