“Father—you here!”
“The evidence indicates such, my boy,” returned the elder Morton.
“Why—why—” He looked about, frightened, helpless, at the three; and then stammered on: “I went to the Biltmore to meet you, as you telephoned; but they told me you were out, and I thought I’d run up here for a minute and then get back—”
“My engagement with you,” interrupted Mr. Morton, “was merely a fatherly subterfuge to keep you away from here while I had a little visit with Mrs. Grayson.”
“Then”—he choked, swallowed—“then you know everything?”
“Not everything. But I know the essentials.”
“Oh, my God!” And Jack collapsed almost bonelessly into a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“Come, brace up—there’s nothing to worry about,” half growled Clifford.
“It’s all right, Jack,” explained Mary. “Your father says he approves your choice!”
Jack was on his feet as though an electric current had hurled him upright. “Is that so, dad?”