He would go down on his knees to his father if she wished it.

He would beg Willits's pardon--he would abase himself in any way St.George should suggest.

He had done what he thought was right, and he would do it over again under like circumstances, but he would grovel at Kate's feet and kiss the ground she stepped on if she required it of him.
St.George, who had sat quiet, examining closely the backs of his finely modelled hands as if to find some solution of the difficulty written in their delicate articulated curves, heard his outburst in silence.
Now and then he would call to Todd, who was never out of reach of his voice--no matter what the hour--to replenish the fire or snuff the candles, but he answered only in nods and monosyllables to Harry.

One suggestion only of the heart-broken lover seemed to promise any result, and that was his making it up with his father as his mother had suggested.

This wall being broken down, and Willits no longer an invalid, perhaps Kate would see matters in a different and more favorable light.
"But suppose father doesn't send for me, Uncle George, what will I do then ?" "Well, he is your father, Harry." "And you think then I had better go home and have it out with him ?" St.George hesitated.