“Mr. Carroll!” she cried—and both men, turning suddenly toward her, saw her standing erect, a slim firm figure with a face of angry beauty. “That’s unfair and cruel and not like you! I know that Stacey cares less for money than any one else in Vernon—and it is a shame that it should have to be I to say so. He lived for four years in mud and horror because he hoped it would do some good. It’s wonderful that when he came back and seemed to find that it hadn’t done any good he could keep his sanity. And still he’d go and live like that again if it were of any use. And you accuse him of living here because of the luxuries you give him! He lives here because of his affection for you and because of the affection he thought you had for him. It’s—shameful—what you said!” She ceased and sat down again, her breath coming fast, her lips quivering.
Stacey gazed at her, his heart beating rather quickly; he was overwhelmed with the number of his emotions. He was astounded at the brave magnificent way she had spoken, proud that it was in his cause, deeply touched, and somehow profoundly sad.
As for Mr. Carroll, he looked in a dazed way from Catherine to his son. “There is no excuse for what I—said to you, son,” he said at last. “I don’t suppose you can forgive me. Try to, if you are able.”
Stacey walked over and shook his hand. “Oh—er—shucks, dad!” he muttered. “It’s all right—forgotten.” It was the first time he had ever heard his father apologize to any one for anything.
Mr. Carroll gave his son a strange wistful look of gratitude, then went over to Catherine. “Are you going to let me sit down beside you, Catherine?” he asked. “You’re not going to pack up and leave the house just because your host’s an old fool?”
“No,” she said in a strangled voice, giving him her hand, but keeping her face averted, so that neither he nor Stacey could see it.
“I’m not altogether an old fool, my dear,” he added, patting her hand; then got up again. “Er—a game of pinochle, Stacey?” he suggested.
Stacey nodded, and moved to get the card table. “Sure! I’d like one. But you don’t really think you’ve any chance against me, do you, dad?” he said shakily.
CHAPTER XXV
At breakfast next morning no allusion was made to the promised excursion with Edwards, but Stacey was confident of its success. On this account, as well as on others, he was glad of last night’s storm. For he knew his father. Mr. Carroll might fancy that principles were the foundation of his life; they were not, they were mere dead wood. First and last it was by personal relationships that he was swayed. It was this that gave him his sweetness, his directness, his genius for holding friends, his absolute inability to be impartial. He would have made a very poor judge. As a result of the quarrel he would be unavoidably on Edwards’ side—because it was Stacey’s side.