Cortland's hands clenched until the knuckles were white, and his eyes closed tightly, as though by a muscular effort he might rob them of a persistent vision. When he spoke his voice was husky like that of a man who had been silent for a long time.
"You're right, sir—I've thought so for some days. But it's not so easy. Sometimes I think she needs me——"
"Needs you? Don't they get along?"
"I don't know. There are times when I feel that I am doing the right sort of thing."
"He doesn't abuse her?"
"I don't know. She'd be the last person to speak of it if he did. But I think she doesn't altogether want me to go."
General Bent shook his head slowly. "No, Cort. It won't do. What you've just told me makes your duty very clear—your duty to her and your duty to yourself. There's danger ahead—danger for you both. You may not care for my advice—we've not always understood each other—but I hope you'll believe me when I say that I offer it unselfishly, with the single purpose of looking after your own welfare. Leave New York. I'm prepared to send you West next week, if you'll go. There will be a lot of work for us all. It's possible that I may go, too, before long. I can give you duties which will keep you busy so that you won't have time to think of other things. When I first spoke to you of this business to-night I spoke as President of the Amalgamated Reduction Company, now I am speaking to you as a father. I want you with us more than ever—largely on our account, but more largely now upon your own. Will you go?"
Cortland rose and leaned one elbow on the mantel.
"You want me to help you in the fight for Wray's smelter?"
"Yes, I do."