“You think we’re rich, don’t you? Your mother did, and God knows I was
not the one to undeceive her.” He laughed a little bitterly, glancing
around the luxuriously furnished room.
“We have always had luxury. Your mother demanded it, Will—it was her
life. The Philadelphia Durrants! Luxury—social prestige—I have
maintained them, all these years—at what a cost!” He passed his hand
across his eyes wearily.
“It’s all a sham, Will—a sham. But now it’s over—there’s only you and
me to please. The bubble is broken. Only you and me—and the wreck of a
business for us to save.” He raised his hand to check my sharp
exclamation.
“I have hidden this from you, Will. But we won’t go into that now—it’s
unimportant.
“I want to talk of you. For twenty-six years you have been scarcely
under my guidance. I cannot blame your mother—only myself. I’ve known
the sort of life you’ve been leading away from home—the sort of
friends you have—the women—” He raised his hand again, and his voice
rose sharply.
“Did you think I didn’t know about the money you lost at cards, and
your mother gave you, time and time again? Do you think I’m ignorant
of the fact that you—my son—are to-day in the way of becoming a
wastrel? Do you think so?”