“Please don’t imagine schemes of life for me. I have one of my own, and it’s quite enough. And my mother,—”
“Yes, your mother, Zee.”
“My mother—was a good woman, wasn’t she, Uncle Rodney?”
“She was a wonderful woman, Zee.”
“And she did what she thought was right, didn’t she?”
“She certainly did.”
“And do you think—is it reasonable to believe—that she would be pleased to know that I had abandoned father because he had been unfortunate, even criminal, if you will have it so? Do you think, Uncle Rodney, that to leave him in his old age would be quite in keeping with your own idea of chivalry? I’m sorry to know that you would propose such a thing. I should like to have your help, but I don’t want it on any such terms,—on any terms.”
She spoke very quietly and waited patiently for anything further that he might have to say. The clock on the mantel struck twelve and across the town the whistles were blowing lustily the noon hour. Merriam lifted his clenched right hand slowly and opened and shut it several times, then dropped it to his knee.
“Zee,” he said, “you shall do it your own way,”—he smiled—“with a few exceptions. You are right about it. Your mother would like you to stand by your father. I can’t even say what is in my heart about him; but I had counted on—having you—now—for myself.”
And the old man’s face twitched from the stress of inner conflict. Zelda crossed to his chair and threw her arms about him.