"Seventeen thousand!" murmured the pariah, rubbing his hands, while his eyes sparkled.
Carrington deliberated for a space. He was hard put. He did not want to refuse this peace-offering, but nothing would make him accept it.
"This is very fine of you. Two years ago I should have jumped at the chance. But my agreement with my partner makes it impossible. I can not honestly break my contract within five years." He waited for the storm to burst, for Cavenaugh was not a patient man.
"Are you mad?" whispered Kate. A flush of anger swept over her at the thought of Carrington's lightly casting aside this evident olive-branch.
"Would you have me accept it?" he returned, in a whisper lower than hers.
She paled. "I had forgotten," she said, with the pain of quick recollection.
The dinner came to its end, and everybody rose gratefully, for there seemed to be something tense in the air.
"Seventeen thousand honest dollars!" murmured the pariah, tagging along at the millionaire's heels.
Carrington threw him a swift penetrating glance; but the old man was looking ecstatically at the tinted angels on the ceiling. The old man might be perfectly guileless; but Carrington scented the faintly bitter aroma of irony.
Just before the carriage arrived to convey Carrington and the ladies to the club dance, grandpa appeared, hat in hand and a humble smile on his face. It was a very attractive face, weather-beaten though it was, penciled by the onset of seventy years.