"Father!" The girl pressed her cheek to his, and there was a moment of silence; then she spoke again gently. "I have often wished I might have been your son."
The hand that had gripped her arm, stole around her and drew her close.
After a moment, she sat up again and faced him. "I came in here to-night on purpose to speak to you about Edgar," she went on. "He wanted me to intercede for him in a matter."
"A matter of debts, I suppose," said Mr. Fabian, his manner imperturbable again, and his tone bitter.
"Yes, but—"
"I'm through," interrupted the man. "He has had plenty of warning. I would not tell you, Kathleen, the number of foolish, and sometimes disgraceful, affairs I have settled for him."
"I don't doubt it, dear, but let me tell you about this," said the girl seriously. "Edgar has no judgment or foresight. He persists in claiming that he was born with a golden spoon in his mouth and that whatever he can scoop up with it is his right. He is your only son and you owe him unlimited liberty."
"The lessons I have given him would be sufficient if he had any brains," said the father sternly.
"Yes; but just a minute more. This debt will astonish you. It is to Mazzini, the famous voice teacher. He has been studying with him since January."
"Just like his vanity! Let him send the bill to Mrs. Larrabee. It is her doing."