Jared experienced a shock as he realized how far this girl had already gone from him.
"Good-bye," she faltered; "good-bye, father."
She turned from him and walked to the door. Then a latent power for good roused Jared.
"Joyce," he called after her; "there's twenty dollars left—take it all, girl."
"No."
"Then for God's sake take half!" He was pleading, pleading with a woman for the first time in his selfish, depraved life.
Joyce turned and looked at him, and the tears filled her eyes.
"No," she repeated, "I—I couldn't take it. I don't want it; but I'm going to Isa Tate, father."
How frightfully still and lonely she had left the little house. Jared looked at the old furniture and found it strange and unnatural. The summer day grew dim as he waited there among the ruins of all that he thought had been his own. No dinner; no probable supper—Jared thought upon the physical discomfort, too, but he was sober enough, and shocked enough to give heed to the graver side of the situation.
What he suffered as the afternoon faded and the ticking of the clock thudded on his senses, no one could ever know.