She shook her head and gently withdrew her hand.
“It is useless to insist, Jefferson—until my father is cleared of this stain our lives—yours and mine—must lie apart.”
Someone coughed and, startled, they both looked up. Mr. Ryder had entered the room unobserved and stood watching them. Shirley immediately rose to her feet indignant, resenting this intrusion on her privacy after she had declined to receive the financier. Yet, she reflected quickly, how could she prevent it? He was at home, free to come and go as he pleased, but she was not compelled to remain in the same room with him. She picked up the few things that lay about and with a contemptuous toss of her head, retreated into the inner apartment, leaving father and son alone together.
“Hum,” grunted Ryder, Sr. “I rather thought I should find you here, but I didn't quite expect to find you on your knees—dragging our pride in the mud.”
“That's where our pride ought to be,” retorted Jefferson savagely. He felt in the humor to say anything, no matter what the consequences.
“So she has refused you again, eh?” said Ryder, Sr. with a grin.
“Yes,” rejoined Jefferson with growing irritation, “she objects to my family. I don't blame her.”
The financier smiled grimly as he answered:
“Your family in general—me in particular, eh? I gleaned that much when I came in.” He looked towards the door of the room in which Shirley had taken refuge and as if talking to himself he added: “A curious girl with an inverted point of view—sees everything different to others—I want to see her before she goes.”
He walked over to the door and raised his hand as if he were about to knock. Then he stopped as if he had changed his mind and turning towards his son he demanded: