“Stop now, father,” exclaimed Lester, putting up his hand. “I warn you. I won’t listen to talk like that. You’re talking about the woman that I’m living with—that I may marry. I love you, but I won’t have you saying things that aren’t so. She isn’t a woman of the streets. You know, as well as you know anything, that I wouldn’t take up with a woman of that kind. We’ll have to discuss this in a calmer mood, or I won’t stay here. I’m sorry. I’m awfully sorry. But I won’t listen to any such language as that.”
Old Archibald quieted himself. In spite of his opposition, he respected his son’s point of view. He sat back in his chair and stared at the floor. “How was he to handle this thing?” he asked himself.
“Are you living in the same place?” he finally inquired.
“No, we’ve moved out to Hyde Park. I’ve taken a house out there.”
“I hear there’s a child. Is that yours?”
“No.”
“Have you any children of your own?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a God’s blessing.”
Lester merely scratched his chin.