“You have come at last, Jefferson.”

“I came as soon as I could,” he replied gently.  “I saw Father only yesterday.”

“You need not tell me what he said,” Shirley hastened to say.

Jefferson made no reply.  He understood what she meant.  He hung his head and hit viciously with his walking stick at the pebbles that lay at his feet.  She went on: 

“I know everything now.  It was foolish of me to think that Mr. Ryder would ever help us.”

“I can’t help it in any way,” blurted out Jefferson.  “I have not the slightest influence over him.  His business methods I consider disgraceful—­you understand that, don’t you, Shirley?”

The girl laid her hand on his arm and replied kindly: 

“Of course, Jeff, we know that.  Come up and sit down.”

He followed her on the porch and drew up a rocker beside her.

“They are all out for a walk,” she explained.

“I’m glad,” he said frankly.  “I wanted a quiet talk with you.  I did not care to meet anyone.  My name must be odious to your people.”

Both were silent, feeling a certain awkwardness.  They seemed to have drifted apart in some way since those delightful days in Paris and on the ship.  Then he said: 

“I’m going away, but I couldn’t go until I saw you.”

“You are going away?” exclaimed Shirley, surprised.

“Yes,” he said, “I cannot stand it any more at home.  I had a hot talk with my father yesterday about one thing and another.  He and I don’t chin well together.  Besides this matter of your father’s impeachment has completely discouraged me.  All the wealth in the world could never reconcile me to such methods!  I’m ashamed of the role my own flesh and blood has played in that miserable affair.  I can’t express what I feel about it.”

“Yes,” sighed Shirley, “it is hard to believe that you are the son of that man!”

“How is your father?” inquired Jefferson.  “How does he take it?”

“Oh, his heart beats and he can see and hear and speak,” replied Shirley sadly, “but he is only a shadow of what he once was.  If the trial goes against him, I don’t think he’ll survive it.”

“It is monstrous,” cried Jefferson.  “To think that my father should be responsible for this thing!”

“We are still hoping for the best,” added Shirley, “but the outlook is dark.”

“But what are you going to do?” he asked.  “These surroundings are not for you—­” He looked around at the cheap furnishings which he could see through the open window and his face showed real concern.

“I shall teach or write, or go out as governess,” replied Shirley with a tinge of bitterness.  Then smiling sadly she added:  “Poverty is easy; it is unmerited disgrace which is hard.”

The young man drew his chair closer and took hold of the hand that lay in her lap.  She made no resistance.