peculiar form of loyalty. I give them to you--for the sake of old times."
"You brought them back for the sake of not going to jail," said Edna, her eyes flashing at him. He smiled gently.
"Edna," he said, "as time goes on you learn nothing—absolutely nothing. Durland, when are you going to begin to grow? Good night, Albertson. Remember that you are a witness to this gift. Good night."
And he had taken his departure before anyone spoke again. It was Durland who spoke first. His voice shook a little.
"You see, mother," he said, "what a terrible injustice you have done Miss Exeter. She might sue you, only she's too generous. Oh, if you had only told me that my father had been about that day--only you never tell me anything, as if I were a baby. You will apologize to her, won't you?"
"I do not seem to be likely to get the chance of speaking to her at all," said Edna, glancing at the closed door.
Cora Wellington rose to her feet.
"I'm sorry to be inhospitable, Edna," she said, "but I have had a long, hard day attending to your business, and I want to go to bed.
In fact, I think I'll go." And she walked firmly out of the room and upstairs, where, since the house--like the Conways'--was