“You mean that it’s noble to be a martyr? It’s nothing but martyrdom to force a brave woman—and she’s a brave woman—to live with—with that man!”
“She’ll make him over. The believing wife shall save the unbelieving husband. She’s done right!” the dean cried again.
The judge looked from one to the other in open disgust.
“She’s my daughter, and I’m—ashamed of her!” he thundered.
“Good Heavens, judge, what an impossible thing to say of her!” Overton was on his feet; it seemed to the other two men that he towered, tall and gaunt and still haggard from his visit with death. He saw the look in their eyes and reached for his hat. “I beg your pardon,” he said to the judge with all his natural courtesy, “but I can’t stay. You must excuse me, feeling as I do.”
As he spoke, he held out his hand. The judge wrung it. Then, as Overton disappeared through the portières, Herford turned to Dr. Price.
“He loved her—she might have been happy yet, and she’s gone back to that—that craven!”
The little dean looked at him with a shocked face.
“You’re a judge, Hadley, and a father—don’t you know you were doing something wrong, immoral and wrong, hideously so? You’ve fed yourself too much on the old Greek idolatry. What right had you to put them asunder—you?”
The judge stared back at him, coloring deeply, angrily.