Part 15 (1/2)

She was the only person in his immediate sphere over whom he had no financial hold.

He was a man who liked to be surrounded by dependents, and Mrs. Porter stoutly declined to be a dependent. She moved about the world, blunt and self-sufficing, and he hated her as he hated no one else. The thought that she had now come to grips with him and that he could best her in open fight was pleasant to him. All his life, except in his conflicts with her, he had won. He meant to win now.

Bailey's apprehensions amused him. He had a thorough contempt for all actors, authors, musicians, and artists, whom he cla.s.sed together in one group as men who did not count, save in so far as they gave mild entertainment to the men who, like himself, did count. The idea of anybody taking them seriously seemed too fantastic to be considered.

Of affection for his children he had little. Bailey was useful in the office, and Ruth ornamental at home. They satisfied him. He had never troubled to study their characters. It had never occurred to him to wonder if they were fond of him. They formed a necessary part of his household, and beyond that he was not interested in them. If he had ever thought about Ruth's nature, he had dismissed her as a feminine counterpart of Bailey, than whom no other son and heir in New York behaved so exactly as a son and heir should.

That Ruth, even under the influence of Lora Delane Porter, should have been capable of her present insubordination, was surprising, but the thing was too trivial to be a source of anxiety. The mischief could be checked at once before it amounted to anything.

Bailey had not been gone too long before Ruth appeared. She stood in the doorway looking at him for a moment. Her face was pale and her eyes bright. She was breathing quickly.

”Are you busy, father? I--I want to tell you something.”

John Bannister smiled. He had a wintry smile, a sort of muscular affection of the mouth, to which his eyes contributed nothing. He had made up his mind to be perfectly calm and pleasant with Ruth. He had read in novels and seen on the stage situations of this kind, where the father had stormed and bl.u.s.tered. The foolishness of such a policy amused him. A strong man had no need to behave like that.

”I think I have heard it already,” he said. ”I have just been seeing Bailey.”

”What did Bailey tell you, father?”

”That you fancied yourself in love with some actor or artist or other whose name I have forgotten.”

”It is not fancy. I do love him.”

”Yes?”

There was a pause.

”Are you very angry, father?”

”Why should I be? Let's talk it over quietly. There's no need to make a tragedy of it.”

”I'm glad you feel like that, father.”

John Bannister lit another cigar.

”Tell me all about it,” he said.

Ruth found herself surprisingly near tears. She had come into the room with every nerve in her body braced for a supreme struggle. Her father's unexpected gentleness weakened her, exactly as he had foreseen. The plan of action which he had determined upon was that of the wrestler who yields instead of resisting, in order to throw an antagonist off his balance.

”How did it begin?” he asked.

”Well,” said Ruth, ”it began when Aunt Lora took me to his studio.”

”Yes, I heard that it was she who set the whole thing going. She is a friend of this fellow-what is his name?”

”Kirk Winfield. Yes, she seemed to know him quite well.”

”And then?”

In spite of her anxiety, Ruth smiled.