After a moment, though, he drew back his shoulders with a jerk and spoke again in a harsher timbre.
"Anne has been fair enough with me about the child, though I'm bound to say I've been jolly well made to understand that it was only a chivalrous and undeserved sort of generosity. Well, the kiddie's almost twelve now, and before long she'll be a belle, too—poor, but related to all the first families."
Masters paused, and when he went on again it was still with the air of a repressed chafing of spirit.
"I dare say her mother will see to it that she doesn't repeat the mistake of the previous generation—marrying a man with only a splendid expectancy. Her heart will be schooled to demand the assured thing. That pointing with pride—a gesture which you Kentuckians so enjoy—well, with my little girl, it will all be done toward the distaff branch. There won't be much said about the wastrel father."
"Perhaps," suggested the other, "you are a little less than just."
"I dare say. She'll be a heart-breaker before long now—and listen, man"—Masters came a step nearer—"don't make any mistake about me either. When she's here, the bottle goes under lock and key. I play the game where she's concerned."
Colonel Wallifarro nodded slowly. "I know that, Larry," he hastily answered. "I know that. If the breach hadn't widened too far, I'd go as far as a man could to bring your family together again under one roof-tree."
"That's no use, of course," admitted Masters with a dead intonation. "Only remember that down here where I'm chained to my little job, life ain't so damned gay and sunny at best—and don't begrudge me my liquor."