The following days as they began to pass were miserable.

Vandover had never known until now how much he loved his father, how large a place he had filled in his life.

He felt horribly alone now, and a veritable feminine weakness overcame him, a crying need to be loved as his father had loved him, and also to love some one as he himself had loved his father.

Worst of all, however, was his loneliness.

He could think of no one who cared in the least for him; the very thought of Turner Ravis or young Haight wrought in him an expression of scorn.