Chase looked at him keenly. “By God, Wint, is this your doing? Are you—”
Wint said, a little wearily: “That was the first thing mother asked. You people don’t think very highly of me, do you?”
“Isn’t it the natural question to ask?” his father demanded. “Isn’t it the only possible explanation of this attitude on your part? Is it true, young man? That you—”
“Have it any way you want,” Wint exclaimed, too angry to deny again. “I don’t care. The point is this. Hetty is in trouble; she needs friends. I’ve promised that we would help her. I’ve promised you and mother would back me up. I counted on you.”
Chase lifted his hand in a terrible, silent rage. “You want to shame us, your mother and me, in the face of all Hardiston. I tell you, Wint, whether it’s your doing or not, you’re crazy. If it’s you—then we’ll give her some money and get rid of her. If it’s not, then she gets out of here to-night. Inside the hour.”
Wint said, half to himself: “We’d have to send her away, in any case. Somewhere. For a while.”
Chase laughed bitterly. “All right. If this is a new scrape you’ve got yourself into, I’ll buy you out of it. How much does the girl want?”
Wint flamed at him: “It’s not my concern, I tell you. You ought not to need to be told.”
“Then get her out of the house,” Chase exclaimed; “as quick as you can. Or I will. Where is she?” He turned toward the door.
But Wint was before him; blocked the doorway. “Father,” he said. “You and mother.... I’ve promised her help. Promised you would be good to her.”