Nathan Marwick started the car along the driveway. Merle was seen to order a halt.
"Of course, for a time, at least, I shall keep the New York apartment. My address will be the same."
The car went on.
"Did that father know his own flesh and blood—I ask you?" demanded Sharon.
"Dear me, dear me!" sighed Harvey D.
"Poor young thing!" said Gideon.
Merle, on his way to the train, thought of his hat. He had not been able to feel confidence in that hat. There was a trimness about it, an assertive glamour, an air of success, that should not stamp one of the oppressed. He had gone to the purchase of it with vague notions that a labouring man, at least while actually labouring, wears a square cap of paper which he has made himself. So he was crowned in all cartoons. But, of course, this paper thing would not do for street wear, and the hat he now wore was the least wealth-suggesting he had been able to find. He now decided that a cap would be better. He seemed to remember that the toiling masses wore a lot of caps.