A Counterfeit Presentment; and, The Parlour Car

by William Dean Howells

Bartlett, very gently.—"Then I think that man will be lost for keeping his conscience too clean. Cummings has invented a new sin."

Mrs. Wyatt.—"James, James! You told me that Mr. Bartlett didn't know."

General Wyatt, contritely.—"I let you think so, Margaret; I didn't know what else to do."

Mrs. Wyatt.—"Oh, James!"

Constance.—"Oh, papa!" She turns with bowed head from her father's arms, and takes refuge in her mother's embrace. General Wyatt, released, fetches a compass round about the parlour, with a face of intense dismay. He pauses in front of his wife.

General Wyatt.—"Margaret, you must know the worst now."

Mrs. Wyatt, in gentle reproach, while she softly caresses Constance's hair.—"Oh, is there anything worse, James?"

General Wyatt, hopelessly.—"Yes: I'm afraid I have been to blame."

Bartlett.—"General Wyatt, let me retire. I"—

General Wyatt.—"No, sir. This concerns you, too, now. Your destiny has entangled you with our sad fortunes, and now you must know them all."