"But it must soon come to an end.

I have delayed the inevitable.

But he must go.

You are right; he must go." And with this colloquy by the far Pacific, the old man dropped Randall Clayton's soiled memory, while the despoiled heir had turned at bay to fight for his own.
While Randall Clayton paced his lonely rooms in Manhattan, gazing sadly on the glowing Danube scene, there was a woman seated in a shaded corner of the old library of the lonely mansion on Layte Street.

The second drawing-room and library on the ground floor were a dream of luxury.