Van Bibber had flushed at Mr. Caruthers’s first words, and had then grown somewhat pale, and straightened himself visibly.  He did not move when the elder man had finished, but cleared his throat, and then spoke with some little difficulty.  “It is very easy to call a man a fool,” he said, slowly, “but it is much harder to be called a fool and not to throw the other man out of the window.  But that, you see, would not do any good, and I have something to say to you first.  I am quite clear in my own mind as to my position, and I am not going to allow anything you have said or can say to annoy me much until I am through.  There will be time enough to resent it then.  I am quite well aware that I did an unconventional thing in coming here—­a bold thing or a foolish thing, as you choose—­but the situation is pretty bad, and I did as I would have wished to be done by if I had had a child going to the devil and didn’t know it.  I should have been glad to learn of it even from a stranger.  However,” he said, smiling grimly, and pulling his cape about him, “there are other kindly disposed people in the world besides fathers.  There is an aunt, perhaps, or an uncle or two; and sometimes, even to-day, there is the chance Samaritan.”

Van Bibber picked up his high hat from the table, looked into it critically, and settled it on his head.  “Good-night,” he said, and walked slowly towards the door.  He had his hand on the knob, when Mr. Caruthers raised his head.

“Wait just one minute, please, Mr. Van Bibber?” asked Mr. Caruthers.

Van Bibber stopped with a prompt obedience which would have led one to conclude that be might have put on his hat only to precipitate matters.

“Before you go,” said Mr. Caruthers, grudgingly, “I want to say—­I want you to understand my position.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Van Bibber, lightly, opening the door.

“No, it is not all right.  One moment, please.  I do not intend that you shall go away from here with the idea that you have tried to do me a service, and that I have been unable to appreciate it, and that you are a much-abused and much-misunderstood young man.  Since you have done me the honor to make my affairs your business, I would prefer that you should understand them fully.  I do not care to have you discuss my conduct at clubs and afternoon teas with young women until you—­”

Van Bibber drew in his breath sharply, with a peculiar whistling sound, and opened and shut his hands.  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” he said, simply.

“I beg your pardon,” the older man said, quickly.  “That was a mistake.  I was wrong.  I beg your pardon.  But you have tried me very sorely.  You have intruded upon a private trouble that you ought to know must be very painful to me.  But I believe you meant well.  I know you to be a gentleman, and I am willing to think you acted on impulse, and that you will see to-morrow what a mistake you have made.  It is not a thing I talk about; I do not speak of it to my friends, and they are far too considerate to speak of it to me.  But you have put me on the defensive.  You have made me out more or less of a brute, and I don’t intend to be so far misunderstood.  There are two sides to every story, and there is something to be said about this, even for me.”