The brutal taunt thrown out by his late adversary still rankled in his heart.

It was possible, he thought, that such a construction might be put upon his affection for the child, which at best was foolish and Quixotic.

Besides, had she not voluntarily abnegated his authority and affection?
And what had everybody else said about her?
Why should he alone combat the opinion of all, and be at last obliged tacitly to confess the truth of all they predicted?
And he had been a participant in a low barroom fight with a common boor, and risked his life, to prove what?
What had he proved?
Nothing?
What would the people say?
What would his friends say?
What would McSnagley say?
In his self-accusation the last person he should have wished to meet was Mliss.

He entered the door, and going up to his desk, told the child, in a few cold words, that he was busy, and wished to be alone.

As she rose he took her vacant seat, and, sitting down, buried his head in his hands.