The blundering old man summoned Billy into his study and ordered him to marry Margaret Hugonin, precisely as the Colonel might have ordered a private to go on sentry-duty.  Ten days earlier Billy would have jumped at the chance; ten days later he would probably have suggested it himself; but at that exact moment he would have as willingly contemplated matrimony with Alecto or Medusa or any of the Furies.  Accordingly, he declined.  Frederick R. Woods flew into a pyrotechnical display of temper, and gave him his choice between obeying his commands and leaving his house forever—­the choice, in fact, which he had been according Billy at very brief intervals ever since the boy had had the measles, fifteen years before, and had refused to take the proper medicines.

It was merely his usual manner of expressing a request or a suggestion.  But this time, to his utter horror and amaze, the boy took him at his word and left Selwoode within the hour.

Billy’s life, you see, was irrevocably blighted.  It mattered very little what became of him; personally, he didn’t care in the least.  But as for that fair, false, fickle woman—­perish the thought!  Sooner a thousand deaths!  No, he would go to Paris and become a painter of worldwide reputation; the money his father had left him would easily suffice for his simple wants.  And some day, the observed of all observers in some bright hall of gaiety, he would pass her coldly by, with a cynical smile upon his lips, and she would grow pale and totter and fall into the arms of the bloated Silenus, for whose title she had bartered her purely superficial charms.

Yes, upon mature deliberation, that was precisely what Billy decided to do.

Followed dark days at Selwoode.  Frederick R. Woods told Margaret of what had occurred; and he added the information that, as his wife’s nearest relative, he intended to make her his heir.

Then Margaret did what I would scarcely have expected of Margaret.  She turned upon him like a virago and informed Frederick R. Woods precisely what she thought of him; she acquainted him with the fact that he was a sordid, low-minded, grasping beast, and a miser, and a tyrant, and (I think) a parricide; she notified him that he was thoroughly unworthy to wipe the dust off his nephew’s shoes—­an office toward which, to do him justice, he had never shown any marked aspirations—­and that Billy had acted throughout in a most noble and sensible manner; and that, personally, she wouldn’t marry Billy Woods if he were the last man on earth, for she had always despised him; and she added the information that she expected to die shortly, and she hoped they would both be sorry then; and subsequently she clapped the climax by throwing her arms about his neck and bursting into tears and telling him he was the dearest old man in the world and that she was thoroughly ashamed of herself.

So they kissed and made it up.  And after a little the Colonel and Margaret went away from Selwoode, and Frederick R. Woods was left alone to nourish his anger and indignation, if he could, and to hunger for his boy, whether he would or not.  He was too proud to seek him out; indeed, he never thought of that; and so he waited alone in his fine house, sick at heart, impotent, hoping against hope that the boy would come back.  The boy never came.