Mr. Walton had been the architect of his own fortune, while the Van Dykes were descended from an old Dutch family, and had held for over a century a high social position. Now that the merchant had money, he thirsted for social recognition—something money will not always buy.
Eight o'clock found father and son in choice orchestra seats in the Grand Opera House, and they began to look about them.
Suddenly Mr. Walton said, sharply:
"What was all that rubbish you were telling me about your cousin being arrested?"
"It was perfectly true, pa," answered Clarence, looking at his father in surprise.
"What do you say to that, then?"
Following the direction of his father's finger, Clarence's eyes rested upon his despised country cousin, elegantly dressed, sitting two rows to the front, and a little to the right, with his eyes fixed upon the curtain, which was then rising.
"That looks very much as if your cousin had been arrested!" said his father, with a sneer.
"I can't understand it," ejaculated Clarence. "It can't be my cousin. It must be some other boy that looks like him."