"Sure enough, why not? Whatever Walter Monroe is, he will always be a gentleman."
"Suppose you bring him to see me to-morrow or next day; we will talk about this."
"I will. Now, good-bye! My regrets to the children that we couldn't finish our romp."
"Good-bye," said Holworthy. "Come again; the children will be glad to see you."
CHAPTER XVII.
As Mr. Sandford walked homeward, the streets seemed to close up behind him; he was shut out from the scenes of his activity, no more to return; State Street was henceforth for him a thing of memory. He had played his game there, while admirers and friends watched his far-seeing moves. He had lost; and now, after checkmate, he must resign his place. How he struggled against the idea! He could not bring himself to acknowledge that the past was irretrievable. His spirit seemed in prison, shut in as by the bars of a dungeon, against which he might tug and rage in vain.
At home, dinner was on the table, waiting for him. As he entered the hall, he met his sister-in-law. She saw the fatal news in his face, and with a sinking heart gave him her usual greeting. Marcia took her place at the table, but with less animation than usual. Charles sat down with his studied indifference. Each one seemed to be absorbed in separate spheres of thought, and the courses came on and were removed in painful silence. At last Mr. Sandford spoke.
"I suppose I need not tell you that it is all over."
"All over!" exclaimed Marcia.
"Yes,—I have failed; so has Fayerweather; so has Stearine."