"You are mistaken, mamma. My only fear is that he will incur too many risks as it is. I have never asked any one to go to the front, and I certainly would not ask Mr. Merwyn. Indeed, when I think of the cause, I would rather he should do as you suggest. I should be glad to have him give thousands and increase the volume of business by millions; but if he gave all he has, he could not stand in my estimation with men who offer their lives and risk mutilation and untold suffering from wounds. I know nothing of Mr. Merwyn's present motives, and they may be anything but patriotic. He may think it to his advantage to win some reputation for loyalty, when it is well known that his mother has none at all. Those two gifts, paltry for one of his means, count very little in these days of immense self-sacrifice. I value, in times of danger, especially when great principles are at stake, self-sacrifice and uncalculating heroism above all things, and I prefer to choose my friends from among those who voluntarily exhibit these qualities. No man living could win my favor who took risks merely to please me. Mr. Merwyn is nothing to me, and if I should ever meet him again socially, which is not probable, I should be the last one to suggest that he should go to the war; but if he, or any one, wishes my regard, there must be a compliance with the conditions on which I give it. I am content with the friends I have."
Mr. Vosburgh looked at his daughter for a moment as if she were fulfilling his ideal, and soon after departed for his office. A few days after, when the early shadows of the late autumn were gathering, he was interrupted in his preparations to return up town by the entrance of the subject of the recent discussion.
Merwyn was pale and evidently embarrassed as he asked, "Mr. Vosburgh, have you a few moments of leisure?"
"Yes," replied the gentleman, briefly.
He led the way to a private office and gave his caller a chair.
The young man was at a loss to begin a conversation necessarily of so delicate a nature, and hesitated.
Mr. Vosburgh offered no aid or encouragement, for his thought was, "This young fellow must show his hand fully before I commit myself or Marian in the slightest degree."
"Miss Vosburgh, no doubt, has told you of the character of our last interview," Merwyn began at last, plunging in medias res.
"My daughter is in the habit of giving me her confidence," was the quiet reply.
"Then, sir, you know how unworthy I am to make the request to which I am nevertheless impelled. In justice I can hope for nothing. I have forfeited the privilege of meeting Miss Vosburgh again, and I do not feel that it would be right for me to see her without your permission. The motives which first led me into her society were utterly unworthy of a true man, and had she been the ordinary society girl that I supposed she was, the results might have been equally deserving of condemnation. I will not plead in extenuation that I had been unfortunate in my previous associations, and in the influences that had developed such character as I had. Can you listen to me patiently?"