"Either go to Atlantic City with us, Helen, or resume your normal, everyday life," he said shortly."I am tired of heroics; Jimmie Turnbull was hardly the man to inspire them.""Stop!" Helen's voice rang out imperiously."I will not permit one word said in disparagement of Jimmie, least of all from you, father.
Wait," as he attempted to speak."I do not know what traits of character I may have inherited from you, but I have all mother's loyalty, and - that loyalty belongs to Jimmie."McIntyre's eyes shifted under her gaze.
"I regret very much this obsession," he said rising."I will not attempt to reason with you again, Helen, but "- he made no effort to lower his voice, "the world - our world will soon know what manner of man James Turnbull was, of that I am determined.""And I "- Helen faced her father proudly - "I will leave no stone unturned to defend his memory."Her father wheeled about."In doing so, see that you do not compromise yourself," he remarked coldly, and before the infuriated girl could answer, he slammed the door shut and stalked downstairs.
Some half hour later he opened the door of Rochester and Kent's law office and would have walked unceremoniously into Kent's private office had not John Sylvester stepped forward from behind his desk in the corner.
"Good morning, Colonel," he said civilly."Mr.Kent is not here.
Do you wish to leave any message?"
"Oh, good morning, Sylvester," McIntyre's manner was brusque."When do you expect Mr.Kent?""In about twenty minutes, Colonel." Sylvester glanced at the wall clock."Won't you sit down?"McIntyre took the chair and planted it by the window.Never a very patient man, he waited for Kent with increasing irritation, and at the end of half an hour his temper was uppermost."Give me something to write with," he demanded of Sylvester.Accepting the clerk's fountain pen without thanks, he walked over to the center table and, drawing out his leather wallet, took from it a visiting card and, stooping over, wrote You have but thirty-six hours remaining.
McIntyre.
"See that Mr.Kent gets this card," he directed."No, don't put it there," irascibly, as the clerk laid the card on top of a pile of letters."Take it into Mr.Kent's office and put it on his desk."There was that about Colonel McIntyre which inspired complete obedience to his wishes, and Sylvester followed his directions without further question.
As the clerk stepped into Kent's office McIntyre saw a woman sitting by the empty desk.She turned her head on hearing footsteps and their glances met.A faint exclamation broke from her.
"Margaret!" McIntyre strode past Sylvester."What are you doing here?"Mrs.Brewster's ready laugh hid all sign of embarrassment."Must you know?" she asked archly."That is hardly fair to Barbara.""So Barbara sent you here with a message!" Mrs.Brewster treated his remark as a statement and not a question, and briskly changed the subject.
"I can't wait any longer," she pouted."Please tell Mr.Kent that I am sorry not to have seen him.""I will, madam." Sylvester placed McIntyre's card in the center of Kent's desk and flew to open the door for Mrs.Brewster.
As the widow stepped into the corridor she brushed by an over-dressed woman, whose cheap finery gave clear indication of her tastes.Hardly noticing another's presence she turned and took McIntyre's arm and they strolled off together, her soft laugh floating back to where Mrs.Sylvester stood talking to her husband.
