“I—do for me? Why, nothing in particular,” he stammered. “Are—are the young ladies at home?”
“Not to you, Mr. Brant; nor will they be if you should ever happen to call again.”
Brant laid fast hold of his sanity and fought for calm speech.
“But, Mrs. Langford,” he gasped, “I—I don’t understand. What have I done?”
“Rather ask what you have not done,” said the lady icily. “But since you put the question, I may answer it. You have come here, not once, but many times, knowing very well that if your history had been known to us or to Mr. Antrim our doors would never have been opened to you. If that is not sufficient, I can be still more explicit, if you wish it.”
“By Heaven, madam, I do wish it!” Brant exploded, rushing upon his fate like any fool of them all. But anger was fast supplanting astonishment.
“Very well, sir. Would you mind telling me where you have spent the better part of your life since you left college?”
“In the mining camps.” He had a sharp premonition of what was coming.
“And your occupation was——”
“It was not what it should have been, I admit. But is there no room for repentance in your creed, Mrs. Langford?”