I doubt if the old idiot has even noticed the absence of my ring from her finger.

And if he has, she's been able to fool him, easily enough.

But not much longer, so help me! "No, this very morning he shall hear from me, the whole infernal story--he shall learn his daughter's unreasonable rebellion, the slight she's put upon me and her opposition to his will.

_Then_ we shall see--we shall see who's master in that family, he or the girl!" With this strong determination in his superheated mind, Waldron rang up Flint, asked for a private talk, at eleven, in the Wall Street office, and made ready the mustering of his arguments; his self-defense; his appeals to Flint's every sense of interest and liking; his whole plea for the resumption of the broken betrothal.
And Catherine, all this time of convalescence--what were her thoughts, and whither were they straying?
Not thoughts of Waldron, that is sure, despite his notes, his telephoning, his flowers, his visits.

Not to him did they wander, as she sat in her sunny bedroom bay-window, looking out over the great, close cropped lawn, through the oaks and elms, to the Palisades and the sparkling Hudson beneath.
No, not to Waldron.