"How much about the boy does Marion know?" Jeffrey inquired.
"Nothing." Walter raised his head. He had been sitting with his face buried in his hands. "She's never even heard of him. We have the boy himself to thank for that." He flushed, looking at his brother and his sister. "A man's past rises up to strike at him—"
"It's buried now with Helen Lampert," Jeffrey replied. He looked at Beman, and the old man nodded.
The manner of the men toward Peewee had changed. There was frankness in their look and liking. He perceived the difference in them without understanding it at first, and still looked at them suspiciously.
But he was commencing to adjust himself. These, he recalled, were members of his family. He was the grandson of the "city-builder," the great-grandson of the still older Jeffrey Markyn. He thought of the great houses in which the family lived. He would be free, he understood, to go in and out of those houses. He would ride, he foresaw, in their motors,
