"I know you didn't, Dick. And I know why. But you are getting over that, aren't you? You are beginning to realize that it isn't what a man does, but the way he does it, that matters."
"Yes," said Richard slowly. "Yes, I'm beginning to realize that. And do you want to know what made me realize it to-day, as never before?"
The old man waited.
"It was the sight of you, sir—and—the recognition of the power you have been all your life;—and the—sudden appreciation of the"—he stumbled a little, but he brought the words out forcefully at the end—"of the very great gentleman you are!"
He could not see the hot tears spring into the old eyes which had not known such a sign of emotion for many years. But he could feel the throb in the low voice which answered him after a moment.
"I may not deserve that, Dick, but—it touches me, coming from you."
When Richard had gone back to his own room, Matthew Kendrick lay for a long time, wide awake, too happy to sleep. In the next room his grandson, before he slept, had formulated one more new idea:
"There's something in the association with people like these that makes a fellow feel like being absolutely honest with them, with everybody—most of all with himself. What is it?"
And pondering this, he was lost in the world of dreams.