“My son,” answered the visitor, proudly. “He graduates this spring. Philip Schuyler. Perhaps you’ve met him?”
“I——”
There was a knock at the door. Parmelee drew himself up very straight, perhaps to give the lie to the pallor of his face.
“Come in!” he called, and the door swung open.
The youth who confronted them looked with white, set face from one to the other. There was an instant of awkward silence. Then, “Father!” he exclaimed, in a low voice.
“Why, Philip, what’s the matter?” Parmelee’s guest moved quickly to the door. “Did you think I was lost?”
The son laughed uneasily.
“I didn’t know you were coming here; I only learned it from mother a few minutes ago.” It sounded like an apology, and the older man looked apprehensively from his son to his host.
“But was there—any reason why I shouldn’t have come here, Phil?”