“H’m!” ejaculated Sanford, eager to break over the injunction Gorham had placed upon him.  “I don’t believe there’s anything in what you’ve said yet that you can’t live down.  Now I suppose if Gorham had told you that we’d had our lunch, the fact that your father was starving to death wouldn’t be accepted as evidence worthy of consideration.”

Allen laughed as he pulled out his watch, his mind easier and his heart lighter than it had been for months.

“I had forgotten all about that, and it’s after four o’clock.  Come on out with me, and I’ll give you a revised version of the ‘fatted calf’ story.”

“You think it is the return of the prodigal father, do you?”

“I hope we are both prodigals, you dear old pater,” Allen replied, seriously; “I hope we both need each other so much that we never can exist alone again.”

“All right; but we’d better go easy with the calf, for I’ve accepted a dinner invitation for us both to-night.”

“You have?” Allen asked, disappointed that their visit was to be interrupted.  “Where?”

“At Gorham’s.”

“I couldn’t go there again, pater,” he protested quickly.  “He’s just asking me because he wants you.”

“No; he wants to talk with you, especially.”

“With me?” Allen’s face sobered.  “He thinks he was harsh the other night.  I would rather not open up the whole subject again.  There are special reasons.  Please go without me.”

“You don’t want to do anything which will make him think worse of you than he does now, do you?”

“No,” was the frank reply, into which a genuine note of sorrow entered.

“Then we’ll dine with him, as he asks us to.  Now lead on to that calf, but make it a little one.”

* * * * *

Allen found himself the only one at the dinner-table who seemed to be laboring under any restraint.  Eleanor and Alice were in better spirits than he had seen them for months, Gorham was an ideal host, conversing with Sanford and with Allen upon lighter topics in a way which seemed to show entire forgetfulness of what had gone before.  It seemed almost heartless to the boy to find these friends, so dear to him, able to conduct themselves in so matter-of-fact a manner while he was in the grip of his own life tragedy.  But he could not blame them.  He had assumed much which they had never granted.  This last dinner together, made possible by his father’s presence in New York, was intended as a lesson to him, and as Mr. Gorham had planned it, then it must be for his good.  He would play his part, and, concealing the pain it cost him, he entered into the conversation with an abandon which surprised them all.

It was not until they had gathered in the library, whither Gorham had especially invited them after the dinner was over, that the atmosphere changed.  Allen saw the expression on Gorham’s face deepen into that serious aspect which always signified matters of important moment.