When Shirley reached her rooms she broke down completely, she
threw herself upon a sofa and burst into a fit of violent sobbing.
After all, she was only a woman and the ordeal through which she
had passed would have taxed the strongest powers of endurance. She
had borne up courageously while there remained the faintest chance
that she might succeed in moving the financier to pity, but now
that all hopes in that direction were shattered and she herself
had been ordered harshly from the house like any ordinary
malefactor, the reaction set in, and she gave way freely to her
long pent-up anguish and distress. Nothing now could save her
father--not even this journey to Washington which she determined
to take nevertheless, for, according to what Stott had said, the
Senate was to take a vote that very night.
She looked at the time--eleven o'clock. She had told Mr. Ryder
that she would leave his house at once, but on reflection it was
impossible for a girl alone to seek a room at that hour. It would
be midnight before she could get her things packed. No, she would
stay under this hated roof until morning and then take the first
train to Washington. There was still a chance that the vote might
be delayed, in which case she might yet succeed in winning over
some of the senators. She began to gather her things together and
was thus engaged when she, heard a knock at her door.
"Who's there?" she called out.
"It's I," replied a familiar voice.
Shirley went to the door and opening it found Jefferson on the
threshold. He made no attempt to enter, nor did she invite him in.
He looked tired and careworn.
"Of course, you're not going to-night?" he asked anxiously. "My
father did not mean to-night."
"No, Jeff," she said wearily; "not to-night. It's a little too
late. I did not realize it. To-morrow morning, early."
He seemed reassured and held out his hand:
"Good-night, dearest--you're a brave girl. You made a splendid
fight."
"It didn't do much good," she replied in a disheartened, listless
way.
"But it set him thinking," rejoined Jefferson. "No one ever spoke
to my father like that before. It did him good. He's still
marching up and down the library, chewing the cud--"
Noticing Shirley's tired face and her eyes, with great black
circles underneath, he stopped short.
"Now don't do any more packing to-night," he said. "Go to bed and
in the morning I'll come up and help you. Good night!"
"Good night, Jeff," she smiled.
He went downstairs, and after doing some more packing she went to
bed. But it was hours before she got to sleep, and then she
dreamed that she was in the Senate Chamber and that she saw Ryder
suddenly rise and denounce himself before the astonished senators
as a perjurer and traitor to his country, while she returned to
Massapequa with the glad news that her father was acquitted.
Meantime, a solitary figure remained in the library, pacing to and
fro like a lost soul in Purgatory. Mrs. Ryder had returned from
the play and gone to bed, serenely oblivious of the drama in real
life that had been enacted at home, the servants locked the house
up for the night and still John Burkett Ryder walked the floor of
his sanctum, and late into the small hours of the morning the
watchman going his lonely rounds, saw a light in the library and
the restless figure of his employer sharply silhouetted against
the white blinds.
For the first time in his life John Ryder realized that there was
something in the world beyond Self. He had seen with his own eyes
the sacrifice a daughter will make for the father she loves, and
he asked himself what manner of a man that father could be to
inspire such devotion in his child. He probed into his own heart
and conscience and reviewed his past career. He had been
phenomenally successful, but he had not been happy. He had more
money than he knew what to do with, but the pleasures of the
domestic circle, which he saw other men enjoy, had been denied to
him. Was he himself to blame? Had his insensate craving for gold
and power led him to neglect those other things in life which
contribute more truly to man's happiness? In other words, was his
life a mistake? Yes, it was true what this girl charged, he had
been merciless and unscrupulous in his dealings with his fellow
man. It was true that hardly a dollar of his vast fortune had been
honestly earned. It was true that it had been wrung from the
people by fraud and trickery. He had craved for power, yet now he
had tasted it, what a hollow joy it was, after all! The public
hated and despised him; even his so-called friends and business
associates toadied to him merely because they feared him. And this
judge--this father he had persecuted and ruined, what a better man
and citizen he was, how much more worthy of a child's love and of
the esteem of the world! What had Judge Rossmore done, after all,
to deserve the frightful punishment the amalgamated interests had
caused him to suffer? If he had blocked their game, he had done
only what his oath, his duty commanded him to do. Such a girl as
Shirley Rossmore could not have had any other kind of a father.
Ah, if he had had such a daughter he might have been a better man,
if only to win his child's respect and affection. John Ryder
pondered long and deeply and the more he ruminated the stronger
the conviction grew upon him that the girl was right and he was
wrong. Suddenly, he looked at his watch. It was one o'clock.
Roberts had told him that it would be an all night session and
that a vote would probably not be taken until very late. He
unhooked the telephone and calling "central" asked for "long
distance" and connection with Washington.
It was seven o'clock when the maid entered Shirley's room with her
breakfast and she found its occupant up and dressed.
"Why you haven't been to bed, Miss!" exclaimed the girl, looking
at the bed in the inner room which seemed scarcely disturbed.
"No, Theresa I--I couldn't sleep." Hastily pouring out a cup of
tea she added. "I must catch that nine o'clock train to
Washington. I didn't finish packing until nearly three."
"Can I do anything for you, Miss?" inquired the maid. Shirley was
as popular with the servants as with the rest of the household.
"No," answered Shirley, "there are only a few things to go in my
suit case. Will you please have a cab here in half an hour?"
The maid was about to go when she suddenly thought of something
she had forgotten. She held out an envelope which she had left
lying on the tray.
"Oh, Miss, Mr. Jorkins said to give you this and master wanted to
see you as soon as you had finished your breakfast."
Shirley tore open the envelope and took out the contents. It was a
cheque, payable to her order for $5,000 and signed "John Burkett
Ryder."
A deep flush covered the girl's face as she saw the money--a flush
of annoyance rather than of pleasure. This man who had insulted
her, who had wronged her father, who had driven her from his home,
thought he could throw his gold at her and insolently send her her
pay as one settles haughtily with a servant discharged for
impertinence. She would have none of his money--the work she had
done she would make him a present of. She replaced the cheque in
the envelope and passed it back to Theresa.
"Give this to Mr. Ryder and tell him I cannot see him."
"But Mr. Ryder said--" insisted the girl.
"Please deliver my message as I give it," commanded Shirley with
authority. "I cannot see Mr. Ryder."
The maid withdrew, but she had barely closed the door when it was
opened again and Mrs. Ryder rushed in, without knocking. She was
all flustered with excitement and in such a hurry that she had not
even stopped to arrange her toilet.
"My dear Miss Green," she gasped; "what's this I hear--going away
suddenly without giving me warning?"
"I wasn't engaged by the month," replied Shirley drily.
"I know, dear, I know. I was thinking of myself. I've grown so
used to you--how shall I get on without you--no one understands me
the way you do. Dear me! The whole house is upset. Mr. Ryder never
went to bed at all last night. Jefferson is going away,
too--forever, he threatens. If he hadn't come and woke me up to
say good-bye, I should never have known you intended to leave us.
My boy's going--you're going--everyone's deserting me!"
Mrs. Ryder was not accustomed to such prolonged flights of oratory
and she sank exhausted on a chair, her eyes filling with tears.
"Did they tell you who I am--the daughter of Judge Rossmore?"
demanded Shirley.
It had been a shock to Mrs. Ryder that morning when Jefferson
burst into his mother's room before she was up and acquainted her
with the events of the previous evening. The news that the Miss
Green whom she had grown to love, was really the Miss Rossmore of
whose relations with Jefferson her husband stood in such dread,
was far from affecting the financier's wife as it had Ryder
himself. To the mother's simple and ingenuous mind, free from
prejudice and ulterior motive, the girl's character was more
important than her name, and certainly she could not blame her son
for loving such a woman as Shirley. Of course, it was unfortunate
for Jefferson that his father felt this bitterness towards Judge
Rossmore, for she herself could hardly have wished for a more
sympathetic daughter-in-law. She had not seen her husband since
the previous evening at dinner so was in complete ignorance as to
what he thought of this new development, but the mother sighed as
she thought how happy it would make her to see Jefferson happily
married to the girl of his own choice, and in her heart she still
entertained the hope that her husband would see it that way and
thus prevent their son from leaving them as he threatened.
"That's not your fault, my dear," she replied answering Shirley's
question. "You are yourself--that's the main thing. You mustn't
mind what Mr. Ryder says? Business and worry makes him irritable
at times. If you must go, of course you must--you are the best
judge of that, but Jefferson wants to see you before you leave."
She kissed Shirley in motherly fashion, and added: "He has told me
everything, dear. Nothing would make me happier than to see you
become his wife. He's downstairs now waiting for me to tell him to
come up."
"It's better that I should not see him," replied Shirley slowly
and gravely. "I can only tell him what I have already told him. My
father comes first. I have still a duty to perform."
"That's right, dear," answered Mrs. Ryder. "You're a good, noble
girl and I admire you all the more for it. I'll let Jefferson be
his own advocate. You'll see him for my sake!"
She gave Shirley another affectionate embrace and left the room
while the girl proceeded with her final preparations for
departure. Presently there was a quick, heavy step in the corridor
outside and Jefferson appeared in the doorway. He stood there
waiting for her to invite him in. She looked up and greeted him
cordially, yet it was hardly the kind of reception he looked for
or that he considered he had a right to expect. He advanced
sulkily into the room.
"Mother said she had put everything right," he began. "I guess she
was mistaken."
"Your mother does not understand, neither do you," she replied
seriously. "Nothing can be put right until my father is restored
to honour and position."
"But why should you punish me because my father fails to regard
the matter as we do?" demanded Jefferson rebelliously.
"Why should I punish myself--why should we punish those nearest
and dearest?" answered Shirley gently, "the victims of human
injustice always suffer where their loved ones are tortured. Why
are things as they are--I don't know. I know they are--that's
all."
The young man strode nervously up and down the room while she
gazed listlessly out of the window, looking for the cab that was
to carry her away from this house of disappointment. He pleaded
with her:
"I have tried honourably and failed--you have tried honourably and
failed. Isn't the sting of impotent failure enough to meet without
striving against a hopeless love?" He approached her and said
softly: "I love you Shirley--don't drive me to desperation. Must I
be punished because you have failed? It's unfair. The sins of the
fathers should not be visited upon the children."
"But they are--it's the law," said Shirley with resignation.
"The law?" he echoed.
"Yes, the law," insisted the girl; "man's law, not God's, the same
unjust law that punishes my father--man's law which is put into
the hands of the powerful of the earth to strike at the weak."
She sank into a chair and, covering up her face, wept bitterly.
Between her sobs she cried brokenly:
"I believed in the power of love to soften your father's heart, I
believed that with God's help I could bring him to see the truth.
I believed that Truth and Love would make him see the light, but
it hasn't. I stayed on and on, hoping against hope until the time
has gone by and it's too late to save him, too late! What can I do
now? My going to Washington is a forlorn hope, a last, miserable,
forlorn hope and in this hour, the darkest of all, you ask me to
think of myself--my love, your love, your happiness, your future,
my future! Ah, wouldn't it be sublime selfishness?"
Jefferson kneeled down beside the chair and taking her hand in
his, tried to reason with her and comfort her:
"Listen, Shirley," he said, "do not do something you will surely
regret. You are punishing me not only because I have failed but
because you have failed too. It seems to me that if you believed
it possible to accomplish so much, if you had so much faith--that
you have lost your faith rather quickly. I believed in nothing, I
had no faith and yet I have not lost hope."
She shook her head and gently withdrew her hand.
"It is useless to insist, Jefferson--until my father is cleared of
this stain our lives--yours and mine--must lie apart."
Someone coughed and, startled, they both looked up. Mr. Ryder had
entered the room unobserved and stood watching them. Shirley
immediately rose to her feet indignant, resenting this intrusion
on her privacy after she had declined to receive the financier.
Yet, she reflected quickly, how could she prevent it? He was at
home, free to come and go as he pleased, but she was not compelled
to remain in the same room with him. She picked up the few things
that lay about and with a contemptuous toss of her head, retreated
into the inner apartment, leaving father and son alone together.
"Hum," grunted Ryder, Sr. "I rather thought I should find you here,
but I didn't quite expect to find you on your knees--dragging our
pride in the mud."
"That's where our pride ought to be," retorted Jefferson savagely.
He felt in the humor to say anything, no matter what the
consequences.
"So she has refused you again, eh?" said Ryder, Sr. with a grin.
"Yes," rejoined Jefferson with growing irritation, "she objects to
my family. I don't blame her."
The financier smiled grimly as he answered:
"Your family in general--me in particular, eh? I gleaned that much
when I came in." He looked towards the door of the room in which
Shirley had taken refuge and as if talking to himself he added: "A
curious girl with an inverted point of view--sees everything
different to others--I want to see her before she goes."
He walked over to the door and raised his hand as if he were about
to knock. Then he stopped as if he had changed his mind and
turning towards his son he demanded:
"Do you mean to say that she has done with you?"
"Yes," answered Jefferson bitterly.
"Finally?"
"Yes, finally--forever!"
"Does she mean it?" asked Ryder, Sr., sceptically.
"Yes--she will not listen to me while her father is still in
peril."
There was an expression of half amusement, half admiration on the
financier's face as he again turned towards the door.
"It's like her, damn it, just like her!" he muttered.
He knocked boldly at the door.
"Who's there?" cried Shirley from within.
"It is I--Mr. Ryder. I wish to speak to you."
"I must beg you to excuse me," came the answer, "I cannot see
you."
Jefferson interfered.
"Why do you want to add to the girl's misery? Don't you think she
has suffered enough?"
"Do you know what she has done?" said Ryder with pretended
indignation. "She has insulted me grossly. I never was so
humiliated in my life. She has returned the cheque I sent her last
night in payment for her work on my biography. I mean to make her
take that money. It's hers, she needs it, her father's a beggar.
She must take it back. It's only flaunting her contempt for me in
my face and I won't permit it."
[Photo, from the play, of Mr. Ryder holding out a cheque
to Shirley.]
"So I contaminate even good money?"--Act IV.
"I don't think her object in refusing that money was to flaunt
contempt in your face, or in any way humiliate you," answered
Jefferson. "She feels she has been sailing under false colours and
desires to make some reparation."
"And so she sends me back my money, feeling that will pacify me,
perhaps repair the injury she has done me, perhaps buy me into
entering into her plan of helping her father, but it won't. It
only increases my determination to see her and her--" Suddenly
changing the topic he asked: "When do you leave us?"
"Now--at once--that is--I--don't know," answered Jefferson
embarrassed. "The fact is my faculties are numbed--I seem to have
lost my power of thinking. Father," he exclaimed, "you see what a
wreck you have made of our lives!"
"Now, don't moralize," replied his father testily, "as if your own
selfishness in desiring to possess that girl wasn't the mainspring
of all your actions!" Waving his son out of the room he added:
"Now leave me alone with her for a few moments. Perhaps I can make
her listen to reason."
Jefferson stared at his father as if he feared he were out of his
mind.
"What do you mean? Are you--?" he ejaculated.
"Go--go leave her to me," commanded the financier. "Slam the door
when you go out and she'll think we've both gone. Then come up
again presently."
The stratagem succeeded admirably. Jefferson gave the door a
vigorous pull and John Ryder stood quiet, waiting for the girl to
emerge from sanctuary. He did not have to wait long. The door soon
opened and Shirley came out slowly. She had her hat on and was
drawing on her gloves, for through her window she had caught a
glimpse of the cab standing at the curb. She started on seeing
Ryder standing there motionless, and she would have retreated had
he not intercepted her.
"I wish to speak to you Miss--Rossmore," he began.
"I have nothing to say," answered Shirley frigidly.
"Why did you do this?" he asked, holding out the cheque.
"Because I do not want your money," she replied with hauteur.
"It was yours--you earned it," he said.
"No, I came here hoping to influence you to help my father. The
work I did was part of the plan. It happened to fall my way. I
took it as a means to get to your heart."
"But it is yours, please take it. It will be useful."
"No," she said scornfully, "I can't tell you how low I should fall
in my own estimation if I took your money! Money," she added, with
ringing contempt, "why, that's all there is to _you!_ It's your
god! Shall I make your god my god? No, thank you, Mr. Ryder!"
"Am I as bad as that?" he asked wistfully.
"You are as bad as that!" she answered decisively.
"So bad that I contaminate even good money?" He spoke lightly but
she noticed that he winced.
"Money itself is nothing," replied the girl, "it's the spirit that
gives it--the spirit that receives it, the spirit that earns it,
the spirit that spends it. Money helps to create happiness. It
also creates misery. It's an engine of destruction when not
properly used, it destroys individuals as it does nations. It has
destroyed you, for it has warped your soul!"
"Go on," he laughed bitterly, "I like to hear you!"
"No, you don't, Mr. Ryder, no you don't, for deep down in your
heart you know that I am speaking the truth. Money and the power
it gives you, has dried up the well-springs of your heart."
He affected to be highly amused at her words, but behind the mask
of callous indifference the man suffered. Her words seared him as
with a red hot iron. She went on:
"In the barbaric ages they fought for possession, but they fought
openly. The feudal barons fought for what they stole, but it was a
fair fight. They didn't strike in the dark. At least, they gave a
man a chance for his life. But when you modern barons of industry
don't like legislation you destroy it, when you don't like your
judges you remove them, when a competitor outbids you you squeeze
him out of commercial existence! You have no hearts, you are
machines, and you are cowards, for you fight unfairly."
"It is not true, it is not true," he protested.
"It is true," she insisted hotly, "a few hours ago in cold blood
you doomed my father to what is certain death because you decided
it was a political necessity. In other words he interfered with
your personal interests--your financial interests--you, with so
many millions you can't count them!" Scornfully she added: "Come
out into the light--fight in the open! At least, let him know who
his enemy is!"
"Stop--stop--not another word," he cried impatiently, "you have
diagnosed the disease. What of the remedy? Are you prepared to
reconstruct human nature?"
Confronting each other, their eyes met and he regarded her without
resentment, almost with tenderness. He felt strangely drawn
towards this woman who had defied and accused him, and made him
see the world in a new light.
"I don't deny," he admitted reluctantly, "that things seem to be
as you describe them, but it is part of the process of evolution."
"No," she protested, "it is the work of God!"
"It is evolution!" he insisted.
"Ah, that's it," she retorted, "you evolve new ideas, new schemes,
new tricks--you all worship different gods--gods of your own
making!"
He was about to reply when there was a commotion at the door and
Theresa entered, followed by a man servant to carry down the
trunk.
"The cab is downstairs, Miss," said the maid.
Ryder waved them away imperiously. He had something further to say
which he did not care for servants to hear. Theresa and the man
precipitately withdrew, not understanding, but obeying with
alacrity a master who never brooked delay in the execution of his
orders. Shirley, indignant, looked to him for an explanation.
"You don't need them," he exclaimed with a quiet smile in which
was a shade of embarrassment. "I--I came here to tell you that
I--" He stopped as if unable to find words, while Shirley gazed at
him in utter astonishment. "Ah," he went on finally, "you have
made it very hard for me to speak." Again he paused and then with
an effort he said slowly: "An hour ago I had Senator Roberts on
the long distance telephone, and I'm going to Washington. It's all
right about your father. The matter will be dropped. You've beaten
me. I acknowledge it. You're the first living soul who ever has
beaten John Burkett Ryder."
Shirley started forward with a cry of mingled joy and surprise.
Could she believe her ears? Was it possible that the dreaded
Colossus had capitulated and that she had saved her father? Had
the forces of right and justice prevailed, after all? Her face
transfigured, radiant she exclaimed breathlessly:
"What, Mr. Ryder, you mean that you are going to help my father?"
"Not for his sake--for yours," he answered frankly.
Shirley hung her head. In her moment of triumph, she was sorry for
all the hard things she had said to this man. She held out her
hand to him.
"Forgive me," she said gently, "it was for my father. I had no
faith. I thought your heart was of stone."
Impulsively Ryder drew her to him, he clasped her two hands in his
and looking down at her kindly he said, awkwardly:
"So it was--so it was! You accomplished the miracle. It's the
first time I've acted on pure sentiment. Let me tell you
something. Good sentiment is bad business and good business
is bad sentiment--that's why a rich man is generally supposed to
have such a hard time getting into the Kingdom of Heaven." He
laughed and went on, "I've given ten millions apiece to three
universities. Do you think I'm fool enough to suppose I can buy my
way? But that's another matter. I'm going to Washington on behalf
of your father because I--want you to marry my son. Yes, I want
you in the family, close to us. I want your respect, my girl. I
want your love. I want to earn it. I know I can't buy it. There's
a weak spot in every man's armour and this is mine--I always want
what I can't get and I can't get your love unless I earn it."
Shirley remained pensive. Her thoughts were out on Long Island, at
Massapequa. She was thinking of their joy when they heard the
news--her father, her mother and Stott. She was thinking of the
future, bright and glorious with promise again, now that the dark
clouds were passing away. She thought of Jefferson and a soft
light came into her eyes as she foresaw a happy wifehood shared
with him.
"Why so sober," demanded Ryder, "you've gained your point, your
father is to be restored to you, you'll marry the man you love?"
"I'm so happy!" murmured Shirley. "I don't deserve it. I had no
faith."
Ryder released her and took out his watch.
"I leave in fifteen minutes for Washington," he said. "Will you
trust me to go alone?"
"I trust you gladly," she answered smiling at him. "I shall always
be grateful to you for letting me convert you."
"You won me over last night," he rejoined, "when you put up that
fight for your father. I made up my mind that a girl so loyal to
her father would be loyal to her husband. You think," he went on,
"that I do not love my son--you are mistaken. I do love him and I
want him to be happy. I am capable of more affection than people
think. It is Wall Street," he added bitterly, "that has crushed
all sentiment out of me."
Shirley laughed nervously, almost hysterically.
"I want to laugh and I feel like crying," she cried. "What will
Jefferson say--how happy he will be!"
"How are you going to tell him?" inquired Ryder uneasily.
"I shall tell him that his dear, good father has relented and--"
"No, my dear," he interrupted, "you will say nothing of the sort.
I draw the line at the dear, good father act. I don't want him to
think that it comes from me at all."
"But," said Shirley puzzled, "I shall have to tell him that you--"
"What?" exclaimed Ryder, "acknowledge to my son that I was in the
wrong, that I've seen the error of my ways and wish to repent?
Excuse me," he added grimly, "it's got to come from him. He must
see the error of _his_ ways."
"But the error of his way," laughed the girl, "was falling in love
with me. I can never prove to him that that was wrong!"
The financier refused to be convinced. He shook his head and said
stubbornly:
"Well, he must be put in the wrong somehow or other! Why, my dear
child," he went on, "that boy has been waiting all his life for an
opportunity to say to me: 'Father, I knew I was in the right, and
I knew you were wrong,' Can't you see," he asked, "what a false
position it places me in? Just picture his triumph!"
"He'll be too happy to triumph," objected Shirley.
Feeling a little ashamed of his attitude, he said:
"I suppose you think I'm very obstinate." Then, as she made no
reply, he added: "I wish I didn't care what you thought."
Shirley looked at him gravely for a moment and then she replied
seriously:
"Mr. Ryder, you're a great man--you're a genius--your life is full
of action, energy, achievement. But it appears to be only the
good, the noble and the true that you are ashamed of. When your
money triumphs over principle, when your political power defeats
the ends of justice, you glory in your victory. But when you do a
kindly, generous, fatherly act, when you win a grand and noble
victory over yourself, you are ashamed of it. It was a kind,
generous impulse that has prompted you to save my father and take
your son and myself to your heart. Why are you ashamed to let him
see it? Are you afraid he will love you? Are you afraid I shall
love you? Open your heart wide to us--let us love you."
Ryder, completely vanquished, opened his arms and Shirley sprang
forward and embraced him as she would have embraced her own
father. A solitary tear coursed down the financier's cheek. In
thirty years he had not felt, or been touched by, the emotion of
human affection.
The door suddenly opened and Jefferson entered. He started on
seeing Shirley in his father's arms.
"Jeff, my boy," said the financier, releasing Shirley and putting
her hand in his son's, "I've done something you couldn't do--I've
convinced Miss Green--I mean Miss Rossmore--that we are not so bad
after all!"
Jefferson, beaming, grasped his father's hand.
"Father!" he exclaimed.
"That's what I say--father!" echoed Shirley.
They both embraced the financier until, overcome with emotion,
Ryder, Sr., struggled to free himself and made his escape from the
room crying:
"Good-bye, children--I'm off for Washington!"
THE END
Transcriber's Notes:
The following words used an 'ae' or 'oe' ligature in the original:
Croesus, manoeuvre, subpoena, _coeur_, vertebrae, Caesar.
There were a number of faded/missing letters and some transposition
errors in the edition this eBook was taken from. The following
corrections were made:
Chapter headers standardised: V-VII previously had a trailing full-stop.
Opening quote inserted: "Yes, and it was worth it to him...
Typo "determinatioin": ...arriving at this determination.
Opening quote inserted: "Tell me, what do the papers say?"
Single quote moved: "You sent him a copy of 'The American Octopus'?"
Single quote doubled: ...hatred of the hero of your book."
Acute accent inserted: ...proceeded to the Hotel de l'Athénée...
Typo "I'ts": ...life to my father. It's no use...
Quote moved/reversed: ...said Shirley decisively. "What is more...
Closing quote inserted: ...What account will you be able to give?"
Typo "Rosmore": ...Judge Rossmore--that is by saving him...
Closing quote inserted: "How?" asked Shirley calmly.
Closing quote inserted: "Upon my word--" he said.
Opening quote inserted: "The dying father, the sorrowing mother...
Opening quote inserted: ...a meddlesome man," insisted Ryder "and...
Opening quote inserted: ...she replied seriously. "Nothing can be...
Closing quote inserted: ...a hopeless love?" He approached her...
Quote moved/reversed: ...answered Jefferson embarrassed. "The fact...