“Well, it don’t matter so long as you’re here.  Mother’s in the parlor waiting for me; I won’t risk taking you to her now, judge—­right off the train, you know.  But I want to bring her to call on Mrs. Kenton as soon after breakfast as you’ll let me.  She just idolizes Mrs. Kenton, from what I’ve told her about her.  Our rooms ready?” He turned to the clerk, and the clerk called “Front!” to a bellboy, who ran up and took Bittridge’s hand-baggage, and stood waiting to follow him into the parlor.  “Well, you must excuse me now, judge.  So long!” he said, gayly, and Kenton crept feebly away to the dining-room.

He must have eaten breakfast, but he was not aware of doing so; and the events of his leaving the table and going up in the elevator and finding himself in his wife’s presence did not present themselves consecutively, though they must all have successively occurred.  It did not seem to him that he could tell what he knew, but he found himself doing it, and her hearing it with strange quiet.

“Very well,” she said.  “I must tell Ellen, and, if she wishes, we must stay in and wait for their call.”

“Yes,” the judge mechanically consented.

It was painful for Mrs. Kenton to see how the girl flushed when she announced the fact of Bittridge’s presence, for she knew what a strife of hope and shame and pride there was in Ellen’s heart.  At first she said that she did not wish to see him, and then when Mrs. Kenton would not say whether she had better see him or not, she added, vaguely, “If he has brought his mother—­”

“I think we must see them, Ellen.  You wouldn’t wish to think you had been unkind; and he might be hurt on his mother’s account.  He seems really fond of her, and perhaps—­”

“No, there isn’t any perhaps, momma,” said the girl, gratefully.  “But I think we had better see them, too.  I think we had better all see them.”

“Just as you please, Ellen.  If you prefer to meet them alone—­”

“I don’t prefer that.  I want poppa to be there, and Lottie and Boyne even.”

Boyne objected when he was told that his presence was requested at this family rite, and he would have excused himself if the invitation had been of the form that one might decline.  “What do I want to see him for?” he puffed.  “He never cared anything about me in Tuskingum.  What’s he want here, anyway?”

“I wish you to come in, my son,” said his mother, and that ended it.

Lottie was not so tractable.  “Very well, momma,” she said.  “But don’t expect me to speak to him.  I have some little self-respect, if the rest of you haven’t.  Am I going to shake hands with him!  I never took the least notice of him at home, and I’m not going to here.”