“I don't know. She wanted to come home. She begged—it was dreadful.” Grace hesitated. “Even that couldn't be as bad as this, father,” she said. “We have all lived our own lives, you and Howard and myself, and now we won't let her do it.”
“And a pretty mess we have made of them!” His tone was grim. “No, I can't say that we offer her any felicitous examples. But the fellow's plan is transparent enough. He is ambitious. He sees himself installed here, one of us. Mark my words, Grace, he may love the child, but his real actuating motive is that. He's a Radical, because since he can't climb up, he'll pull down. But once let him get his foot on the Cardew ladder, and he'll climb, over her, over all of us.”
He sat after that, his head dropped on his chest, his hands resting on the arms of his chair, in a brooding reverie. Grace waited.
“Better bring her home,” he said finally. “Tell her I surrender. I want her here. Let her bring that fellow here, too, if she has to see him. But for God's sake, Grace,” he added, with a flash of his old fire, “show her some real men, too.”
Suddenly Grace bent over and kissed him. He put up his hand, and patted her on the shoulder.
“A good woman, Grace,” he said, “and a good daughter to me. I'm sorry. I'll try to do better.”
As Grace straightened she heard the door close below, and Howard's voice. Almost immediately she heard him coming up the staircase, and going out into the hall she called softly to him.
“Where are you?” he asked, looking up. “Is father there?”
“Yes.”
“I want you both to come down to the library, Grace.”