So he grew up to admire her, perhaps; surely to stand in some awe of her.  She was his mother, and he felt vaguely that the relationship demanded some affection from him.  He had fancied that he was giving her affection, but he was doing nothing of the sort. ...  His childish troubles had been confided to servants.  His babyish woes had been comforted by servants.  What genuine love he had been able to give had been given to servants.  She had not been the companion of his babyhood as his father had failed to be the companion of his youth. ...  So far as the finer, the sweeter affairs of parenthood went, Bonbright had been, and was, an orphan. ...

“Have you nothing to say?” his father demanded, and, when Bonbright made no reply, continued:  “Your mother and I have been unable to understand your conduct.  Even in our alarm we have been discussing your action and your attitude.  It is not one we expected from a son of ours. ...  You have not filled our hopes and expectations.  I, especially, have been dissatisfied with you ever since you left college.  You have not behaved like a Foote. ...  You have made more trouble for me in these few months than I made for my father in my life. ...  And yesterday—­I would be justified in taking extreme measures with you.  Such an outburst!  You were disrespectful and impertinent.  You were positively rebellious.  If I had not more important things to consider than, my own feelings you should have felt, more vigorously than you shall, my displeasure.  You dared to speak to me yesterday in a manner that would warrant me in setting you wholly adrift until you came to your senses. ...  But I shall not do that.  Family considerations demand your presence in our offices.  You are to take my place and to carry on our line. ...  This hasn’t seemed to impress you.  You have been childishly selfish.  You have thought only of yourself—­of that thing you fancy is your individuality.  Rubbish!  You’re a Foote—­and a Foote owes a duty to himself and his family that should outweigh any personal desires. ...  I don’t understand you, my son.  What more can you want than you have and will have?  Wealth, position, family?  Yet for months you have been sullen and restless-and then openly rebellious. ...  And worse, you have been compromising yourself with a girl not of your class. ...”

“I could not believe my ears,” said Mrs. Foote, coldly.

“However,” said his father, “I shall overlook what has passed.”  Now came the sop he had planned to throw to Bonbright.

“You have been in the office long enough to learn something of the business, so I shall give you work of greater interest and responsibility. ...  You say, ridiculously enough, that you have been a rubber stamp.  Common sense should have told you you were competent to carry no great responsibilities at first. ...  But you shall take over a part of my burden now. ...  However, one thing must come first.  Before we go any farther, your mother and I must have your promise that you will discontinue whatever relations you have with this boarding-house keeper’s daughter, this companion of anarchists and disturbers.”