“It is essential that you return to your duty.  Your unpleasant experience is over.  You are old enough to understand your position as my son, and the responsibilities and duties of it.  You are Bonbright Foote VII and the future head of our family.  I am being very patient and lenient with you. ...  You have defied me openly, but I am willing to overlook that, and I am sure your mother will overlook your conduct toward her, providing you return to your place in a frame of mind proper for my son.  I think you understand what that is.”

“Perfectly, sir.  It means to be jammed back in a mold that will turn me out to the family pattern.  It means a willingness to give up thinking for myself and accept your thoughts and shape my life by them.  It means being a figurehead as long as you live and a replica of yourself when you are gone.  That’s it, isn’t it?”

“That is it,” said Mr. Foote, shortly.  “You are rid of that woman. ...  I am willing to give you another chance.”

Bonbright’s hold upon himself was firm.  “If you wish to continue this conversation you will not speak in that way of my wife.  Let me make that very clear. ...  As to coming back to the office—­there is nothing under heaven that would bring me back to what I escaped from.  Nothing. ...  If I were ever to come it would have to be on terms of my own making, and you would never agree to them.  And whatever terms you agreed to I should not come until you and mother—­both of you—­ went to my wife and made the most complete apology for the thing you did to her in the theater that night. ...  I am not thinking of myself.  I am thinking of her.  My mother and father passed my wife and myself on our wedding night, in a public place, and refused to recognize us. ...  It was barbarous.”  Bonbright’s voice quivered a trifle, but he held himself well in hand.  “That apology must come before anything else.  After you have made it, we will discuss terms.”

“You—­you—­” Mr. Foote was perilously close to losing his dignity.

“No,” said Bonbright; “on second thought, we will not discuss terms.  You can have my final reply now. ...  You have nothing to give me that will take the place of what I have now.  I will not come back to you.  Please understand that this is final.”

Mr. Foote was speechless.  It was moments before he could speak; then it was to say, in a voice that trembled with rage:  “In the morning I shall make my will—­and your name will not appear in it except as a renegade son whom I have disowned..., Probably you regarded the property as under entail and that it would come to you after me. ...  For six generations it has gone from father to son.  You shall never touch a penny of it.”

“I prefer it that way, sir.”

Mr. Foote glared at his son in quite unrestrained, uncultured rage, and, whirling on his heel, strode furiously away.  Bonbright looked after him curiously.

“I wonder how the thing missed out with me,” he thought.  “It worked perfectly six generations—­and then went all to smash with me. ...  Probably I’d have been a lot happier. ...”