We drew our chairs together before the fire and I lighted a cigarette.
“You’re not a child any more, Will,” he went on. “You’re nearly twenty-six—a man.” He laid his hand on mine with more evidence of affection than I had ever had from him before. “We’re all alone now—you and I. There are many things you don’t understand—and I want you to—for we must be very close to each other now.”
I waited, wondering.
“You think we’re rich, don’t you? Your mother did, and God knows I was not the one to undeceive her.” He laughed a little bitterly, glancing around the luxuriously furnished room.
“We have always had luxury. Your mother demanded it, Will—it was her life. The Philadelphia Durrants! Luxury—social prestige—I have maintained them, all these years—at what a cost!” He passed his hand across his eyes wearily.
“It’s all a sham, Will—a sham. But now it’s over—there’s only you and me to please. The bubble is broken. Only you and me—and the wreck of a business for us to save.” He raised his hand to check my sharp exclamation.
“I have hidden this from you, Will. But we won’t go into that now—it’s unimportant.
“I want to talk of you. For twenty-six years you have been scarcely under my guidance. I cannot blame your mother—only myself. I’ve known the sort of life you’ve been leading away from home—the sort of friends you have—the women—” He raised his hand again, and his voice rose sharply.
“Did you think I didn’t know about the money you lost at cards, and your mother gave you, time and time again? Do you think I’m ignorant of the fact that you—my son—are to-day in the way of becoming a wastrel? Do you think so?”
I laughed. “You’re crazy.”