The Coming of Bill

Ruth looked at him quickly. He still smiled, but his eyes were cold and hard. She realized suddenly that she had been played with, that all his kindliness and amiability had been merely a substitute for the storm which she had expected. After all, it was to be war between them, and she braced herself for it!

"Father!" she cried.

Mr. Bannister continued to puff serenely at his cigar.

"We needn't get worked up about it," he said. "Let's keep right on talking it over quietly."

"Very well," said Ruth. "But, after what you have just said, what is there to talk over?"

"You might be interested to hear my reasons for saying it."

"And I will argue my side."

Mr. Bannister waved his hand gently.

"You don't have to argue. You just listen."

Ruth bit her lip.

"Well?"

"In the first place," said her father, "about this young man. What is he? Bailey says he is an artist. Well, what has he ever done? Why don't I know his name? I buy a good many pictures, but I don't remember ever signing a cheque for one of his. I read the magazines now and then, but 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.