THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
tion of Independence—Armitage read the following:
You may or may not return some day. This is against the possibility of your return. You went away with a broken heart. But hearts never break, my son; they wear out, wither, and die. So no doubt some day you will return. I confess I always rather admired you, you were so different from the run of your breed. The personalities of your father and mother were strong and individualistic, and no doubt they reacted upon your own. But somehow you never struck me as a personality, as an individual; rather you were a type. You were born to riches; you had no ordinary wish that money could not instantly supply; you seemed to be without real interest in life, bored. You were to me a cipher drawn on a blackboard; something visible through the agency of chalk, but representing—nothing. I have helped myself to half your fortune, because I am basically tender of heart. Had you been a wastrel, I should have taken everything. But the spirit in you was generous and kindly. I don't suppose you ever did a mean thing—or an interesting thing. Going into the wildernesses as you have done may teach you some sound facts regarding life. Don't worry about me. What I have done does not appear to me as a crime. I have merely relieved you of half of your responsibilities and half your boredom. I knew, the moment you turned over that power of attorney to me, what I was eventually going to do, provided you remained away long enough. Don't
51
