For a moment they gazed at each other with flashing eyes and set lips; then Benson came quickly to his feet.
“Think it over, Stephen,” he said, and abruptly left the room.
CHAPTER FIFTY
STEPHEN came swiftly into the library. The early morning sun streamed in through the long windows which stood open, and by the table in the centre of the room sat Benson reading his morning paper.
“Uncle Jake,” said the young fellow huskily.
The lawyer glanced up from his paper.
“Good-morning, Stephen,” he said pleasantly. His mood had changed somewhat over night, and he had decided not to be too exacting with the boy. But Stephen could not know this. His face was very white and resolute. He had slept but little. The gross injustice of Benson's demand was a conviction that had remained unalterably fixed in his memory. He met Benson's glance waveringly. Something rose in his throat, but by an effort he mastered the emotions he felt might sway him to weakly temporize with a situation which he had told himself over and over could not be longer borne.
“In view of last night's conversation, Uncle Jake, I have decided that the best thing for me to do is to leave your house. I am sorry that this is so. I am here to thank you for the benefits, the numberless kindnesses you have conferred upon me—and to say goodbye.” He took a forward step and extended his hand. The words he had rehearsed many times, but the feeling that flowed with them was real and spontaneous and of the moment itself.