Gordon had risen from his chair, and the two stood eye to eye. It was a tense moment, full of potent possibilities. One of them must give way, or a clash would inevitably follow, a clash which would probably destroy forever that perfect devotion which had always existed between them.
For Gordon it was a moment of extreme pain. But in him was no thought of yielding. From his father it was his invincible determination to force an acknowledgment of fitness in human affairs as he understood them.
At that moment there was no humor in the situation for him.
In the older man, however, humor was perhaps more matured. Parental affection, too, is perhaps a bigger, wider, deeper thing than the filial emotions of youth. He had only intended to test this son of his. His challenge had been intended to try him, to confound. But the confounding had been with him in the shock of his son's irrevocable determination.
That moment of natural resentment passed as swiftly as it had arisen. Gordon was all, and even more, he told himself dryly, than he had hoped. And so the moment passed, and the hard, gray eyes melted to a kindly, whimsical smile which had not one vestige of irony in it.
"You're a blamed young scamp," he said cordially; "but—I'm afraid I like you all the better for it. Say, do you think that little girl of yours and her father have gone to bed yet?"
Gordon reached across, holding out his hand.
"Dear old Dad," he cried, "I'm dead sure we'll find 'em both not a mile the other side of that door. The game's played out, and—we quit?"
The father caught his son's hand and wrung it.
"It's played out, boy; and God bless you!" They stood for a moment hand gripped in hand. Then the millionaire pointed at the door.