Shirley listened quietly to the end and only the increasing pallor of her face and an occasional nervous twitching at the corner of her mouth betrayed the shock that this recital of her father’s misfortunes was to her.  Ah, this she had little dreamed of!  Yet why not?  It was but logic.  When wrecked in reputation, one might as well be wrecked in fortune, too.  What would their future be, how could that proud, sensitive man her father bear this humiliation, this disgrace?  To be condemned to a life of obscurity, social ostracism, and genteel poverty!  Oh, the thought was unendurable!  She herself could earn money, of course.  If her literary work did not bring in enough, she could teach and what she earned would help out.  Certainly her parents should never want for anything so long as she could supply it.  She thought bitterly how futile now were plans of marriage, even if she had ever entertained such an idea seriously.  Henceforward, she did not belong to herself.  Her life must be devoted to clearing her father’s name.  These reflections were suddenly interrupted by the voice of Mrs. Blake calling out: 

“Shirley, where have you been?  We lost sight of you as we left the ship, and we have been hunting for you ever since.”

Her aunt, escorted by Jefferson Ryder, had gone direct to the Customs desk and in the crush they had lost trace of her.  Shirley introduced Stott.

“Aunt Milly, this is Judge Stott, a very old friend of father’s.  Mrs. Blake, my mother’s sister.  Mother will be surprised to see her.  They haven’t met for ten years.”

“This visit is going to be only a brief one,” said Mrs. Blake.  “I really came over to chaperone Shirley more than anything else.”

“As if I needed chaperoning with Mr. Ryder for an escort!” retorted Shirley.  Then presenting Jefferson to Stott, she said: 

“This is Mr. Jefferson Ryder—­Judge Stott.  Mr. Ryder has been very kind to me abroad.”

The two men bowed and shook hands.

“Any relation to J.B.?” asked Stott good humouredly.

“His son—­that’s all,” answered Jefferson laconically.

Stott now looked at the young man with more interest.  Yes, there was a resemblance, the same blue eyes, the fighting jaw.  But how on earth did Judge Rossmore’s daughter come to be travelling in the company of John Burkett Ryder’s son?  The more he thought of it the more it puzzled him, and while he cogitated, Shirley and her companions wrestled with the United States Customs, and were undergoing all the tortures invented by Uncle Sam to punish Americans for going abroad.

Shirley and Mrs. Blake were fortunate in securing an inspector who was fairly reasonable.  Of course, he did not for a moment believe their solemn statement, already made on the ship, that they had nothing dutiable, and he rummaged among the most intimate garments of their wardrobe in a wholly indecent and unjustifiable manner, but he was polite and they fared no worse than all the other women victims of this, the most brutal custom house inspection system in the world.