"Jay came west, first, to tell him?"
"Yes."
"Funny John Rountree never mentioned it—or sent word to my father."
"Oh, no," denied Ellen, gasping a little.
"Father would certainly expect him to; and I was right here."
"The boy ran off," said Ellen.
"You seem to know he was running. Who's his wife?"
"A New York girl."
"In school, didn't the paper say?"
He was seizing, gloating over every point to Jay's discredit. Again he referred to his father's certain offense. He wanted his father displeased with the Rountrees. Why?
Ellen's head (the clear, competent inside of her head, filled with business affairs) explained it to her. Lew Alban, planning to bestow his business elsewhere, knew that his father, though retired, would have his firm remain faithful to his old friends—unless he became offended at them. Here was a happening, made to Lew's hand to fashion into a cause of offense.
At last Lew was off to his train for home. Ellen phoned the house on Astor Street, speaking to Beedy, who promised to inform Mr. Rountree, as soon as he appeared, that the newspapers had word of Mr. Jay's marriage in New York; also that Mr. Alban had heard of it.
In the hall before the elevators, a tall young man in a blue ulster awaited Ellen and greeted her in a deep, shy voice.
"Hello, Denny," she replied, slipping her hand out of
