And I'll admit it now by taking the liberty of asking you whom you were with in Baltimore." "None of your damned business!" said Dysart, wheeling short on him.
"Perhaps not.

I did not believe it at the time, but I do now....

And her brother is after you with a gun." "What do you mean ?" "That you'd better get out of town unless you want an uglier scandal on your hands." Dysart stood breathing fast and with such effort that his chest moved visibly as the lungs strained under the tension: "Do you mean to say that drunken whelp suspects anything so--so wildly absurd----" "Which drunken whelp?
There are several in town ?" Dysart glared at him, careless of what he might now believe.
"I take it you mean that little cur, Quest." "Yes, I happen to mean Quest." Dysart gave an ugly laugh and turned short on his heel: "The whole damn lot of you make me sick," he said.

"So does this club." A servant held his rain-coat and handed him his hat; he shook his bent shoulders, stifled a cough, and went out into the rain.
In his own home his little old father, carefully be-wigged, painted, cleaned and dressed, came trotting into the lamp-lit living-room fresh from the ministrations of his valet.
"There you are, Jack!--te-he! Oh, yes, there you are, you young dog!--all a-drip with rain for the love o' the ladies, eh, Jack?
Te-he--one's been here to see you--a little white doll in chinchillas, and scared to death at my civilities--as though she knew the Dysarts--te-he! Oh, yes, the Dysarts, Jack.

But it was monstrous imprudent, my son--and a good thing that your wife remains at Lenox so late this season--te-he! A lucky thing, you young dog! And what the devil do you mean by it--eh?
What d'ye mean, I say!" Leering, peering, his painted lips pursed up, the little old man seated himself, gazing with dim, restless eyes at the shadowy blur which represented to him his handsome son--a Dysart all through, elegant, debonair, resistless, and, married or single, fatal to feminine peace of mind.