I can't recall seeing his signature to any of the illustrations. How
does he live, anyway, without going into the question of how he intends
to support a wife?"
"Aunt Lora told me he had private means."
"How much?"
"Five thousand dollars a year."
"Exactly the amount necessary to let him live without working. I have
him placed now. I know his type. I could show you a thousand men in
this city in exactly the same position. They don't starve and they
don't work. This young man of yours is a loafer."
"Well?"
Ruth's voice was quiet, but a faint colour had crept into her face and
her eyes were blazing.
"Now perhaps you would care to hear what I think of his principles. How
do you feel that he comes out of this business? Does he show to
advantage? Isn't there just a suspicion of underhandedness about his
behaviour?"
"No."
"No? He lets you pay these secret visits......"
Ruth interrupted.
"There was nothing secret about them, to him. Aunt Lora brought me to
the studio in the first place, and she kept on bringing me. I don't
suppose it ever occurred to Kirk to wonder who I was and who my father
might be. He has been perfectly straight. If you like to say I have
been underhanded, I admit it. I have. More so than you imagine. I just
wanted him, and I didn't care for anything except that."
"It did not strike you that you owed anything to me, for instance?"
"No."
"I should have thought that, as your father, I had certain claims."
Ruth was silent.
Mr. Bannister sighed.
"I thought you were fond of me, Ruth," he said wistfully. It was the
wrestler yielding instead of resisting. Ruth's hard composure melted
instantly. She flung her arms round his neck in a burst of remorseful
affection.
"Of course I am, father dear. You're making this awfully hard for me."
Mr. Bannister chuckled inwardly. It seemed to him that victory was in
sight. He always won, he told himself, always.
"I only want you to be sensible."
Ruth stiffened at the word. It jarred upon her. She felt that they were
leagues apart, that they could never be in sympathy with each other.
"Father," she said.
"Yes?"
"Would you like to see Kirk?"
"I have been wondering when he was going to appear on the scene. I
always thought it was customary on these occasions for the young man to
present himself in person, and not let the lady fight his battles for
him. Is this Mr. Winfield a little deficient in nerve?"
Ruth flushed angrily.
"I particularly asked Kirk not to come here before I had seen you. I
insisted on it. Naturally, he wanted to."
"Of course!"
There was a sneer in his voice which he did not try to hide. It flicked
Ruth like a whip. Her painfully preserved restraint broke up under it.
"Do you think Kirk is afraid of you, father?"
"It crossed my mind."
"He is not."
"I have only your word for it."
"You can have his if you want it. There is the telephone. You can have
him here in ten minutes if you want to see him."
"A very good idea. But, as it happens, I do not want to see him. There
is no necessity. His views on this matter do not interest me. I......"
There was a hurried knock at the door. Bailey burst in, ruffled and
wild as to the eyes.
"Father," he cried, "I don't want to interrupt you, but that infernal
woman, Aunt Lora, has arrived, and says she won't go till she has seen
you. She's downstairs now."
"Not now," said Lora Delane Porter, moving him to one side and entering
the room. "I thought it would be a comfort to you, Ruth, to have me
with you to help explain exactly how matters stand. Good evening, John.
Go away, Bailey. Now let us discuss things quietly."
"She is responsible for the whole thing, father," cried Bailey.
Mr. Bannister rose.
"There is nothing to discuss," he said shortly. "I have no wish to
speak to you at all. As you appear to have played a large part in this
affair, I may as well tell you that it is settled. Ruth will not marry
Mr. Winfield."
Lora Delane Porter settled herself comfortably in a chair. She drew off
her gloves and placed them on the table.
"Please ask that boy Bailey to go," she said. "He annoys me. I cannot
marshal my thoughts in his presence."
Quelled by her eye, Bailey removed himself. His father remained
standing. Ruth, who had risen at her aunt's entry, sat down again. Mrs.
Porter looked round the room with some approval.
"You have a nice taste in pictures, John," she said. "That is a Corot,
surely, above the mantelpiece?"
"Will you......"
"But about this little matter. You dislike the idea of Ruth marrying
Mr. Winfield? Have you seen Mr. Winfield?"
"I have not."
"Then how can you possibly decide whether he is a fit husband for
Ruth?"
"I know all about him."
"What do you know?"
"What Ruth has told me. That he is a loafer who pretends to be an
artist."
"He is a poor artist. I grant you that. His drawing is weak. But are
you aware that he is forty-three inches round the chest, six feet tall,
and in perfect physical condition?"
"What has that got to do with it?"
"Everything. You have not read my 'Principles of Selection'?"
"I have not."
"I will send you a copy to-morrow."
"I will burn it directly it arrives."
"Then you will miss a great deal of valuable information," said Mrs.
Porter tranquilly.
There was a pause. John Bannister glared furiously at Mrs. Porter, but
her gaze was moving easily about the room, taking in each picture in
turn in a leisurely inspection.
An exclamation from Ruth broke the silence, a sharp cry like that of an
animal in pain. She sprang up, her face working, her eyes filled with
tears.
"I can't stand it!" she cried. "I can't stand it any longer! Father,
Kirk and I were married this afternoon."
Mrs. Porter went quickly to her and put her arm round her. Ruth was
sobbing helplessly. The strain had broken her. John Bannister's face
was leaden. The veins stood out on his forehead. His mouth twisted
dumbly.
Mrs. Porter led Ruth gently to the door and pushed her out. Then she
closed it and turned to him.
"So now you know, John," she said. "Well, what are you going to do
about it?"
Self-control was second nature with John Bannister. For years he had
cultivated it as a commercial asset. Often a fortune had depended on
his mastery of his emotions. Now, in an instant, he had himself under
control once more. His face resumed its normal expression of cold
impassiveness. Only his mouth twitched a little.
"Well?" asked Mrs. Porter.
"Take her away," he said quietly. "Take her out of here. Let her go to
him. I have done with her."
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Porter, and left the room.
Chapter VII Sufficient Unto Themselves
Some months after John Bannister had spoken his ultimatum in the
library two drought-stricken men met on the Rialto. It was a close June
evening, full of thirst.
"I could do with a drink," said the first man. "Several."
"My tongue is black clear down to the roots," said the second.
"Let's go up to Kirk Winfield's," proposed the first man, inspired.
"Not for me," said the other briefly. "Haven't you heard about Kirk?
He's married!"
"I know, but......"
"And when I say married, I mean married. She's old John
Bannister's daughter, you know, and I guess she inherits her father's