There was one other person in New York who, that same morning, had read the newspaper item regarding the Ryder-Roberts betrothal, and he did not take the matter so calmly as Shirley had done.  On the contrary, it had the effect of putting him into a violent rage.  This was Jefferson.  He was working in his studio when he read it and five minutes later he was tearing up-town to seek the author of it.  He understood its object, of course; they wanted to force his hand, to shame him into this marriage, to so entangle him with the girl that no other alternative would be possible to an honourable man.  It was a despicable trick and he had no doubt that his father was at the back of it.  So his mind now was fully made up.  He would go away at once where they could not make his life a burden with this odious marriage which was fast becoming a nightmare to him.  He would close up his studio and leave immediately for Europe.  He would show his father once for all that he was a man and expected to be treated as one.

He wondered what Shirley was doing.  Where had she gone, what was this mysterious work of which she had spoken?  He only realized now, when she seemed entirely beyond his reach, how much he loved her and how empty his life would be without her.  He would know no happiness until she was his wife.  Her words on the porch did not discourage him.  Under the circumstances he could not expect her to have said anything else.  She could not marry into John Ryder’s family with such a charge hanging over her own father’s head, but, later, when the trial was over, no matter how it turned out, he would go to her again and ask her to be his wife.

On arriving home the first person he saw was the ubiquitous Mr. Bagley, who stood at the top of the first staircase giving some letters to the butler.  Jefferson cornered him at once, holding out the newspaper containing the offending paragraph.

“Say, Bagley,” he cried, “what does this mean?  Is this any of your doing?”

The English secretary gave his employer’s son a haughty stare, and then, without deigning to reply or even to glance at the newspaper, continued his instructions to the servant: 

“Here, Jorkins, get stamps for all these letters and see they are mailed at once.  They are very important.”

“Very good, sir.”

The man took the letters and disappeared, while Jefferson, impatient, repeated his question: 

“My doing?” sneered Mr. Bagley.  “Really, Jefferson, you go too far!  Do you suppose for one instant that I would condescend to trouble myself with your affairs?”

Jefferson was in no mood to put up with insolence from anyone, especially from a man whom he heartily despised, so advancing menacingly he thundered: 

“I mean—­were you, in the discharge of your menial-like duties, instructed by my father to send that paragraph to the newspapers regarding my alleged betrothal to Miss Roberts?  Yes or No?”