The Cost | Page 6

through."
He felt that he was fully entitled to the rights of the regenerate; he went
to Colonel Gardiner's law office boldly to claim them.
At sight of him the colonel's face hardened into an expression as near to
hate as its habit of kindliness would concede. "Well, sir!" said he,
sharply, eying the young man over the tops of his glasses.
Dumont stiffened his strong, rather stocky figure and said, his face a
study of youthful frankness: "You know what I've come for, sir. I want
you to give me a trial."
"No!" Colonel Gardiner shut his lips firmly.
"Good morning, sir!" And he was writing again.
"You are very hard," said Dumont, bitterly.
"You are driving me to ruin."
"How DARE you!" The old man rose and went up to him, eyes blazing
scorn. "You deceive others, but not me with my daughter's welfare as
my first duty. It is an insult to her that you presume to lift your eyes to
her."
Dumont colored and haughtily raised his head. He met the colonel's
fiery gaze without flinching.
"I was no worse than other young men--"
"It's a slander upon young men for you to say that they--that any of
them with a spark of decency--would do as you have done, as you DO!
Leave my office at once, sir!"
"I've not only repented--I've shown that I was ashamed of--of that,"
said Dumont. "Yet you refuse me a chance!"
The colonel was shaking with anger.
"You left here for New York last Thursday night," he said. "Where and
how did you spend Saturday night and Sunday and Monday?"
Dumont's eyes shifted and sank.
"It's false," he muttered. "It's lies."
"I expected this call from you," continued Colonel Gardiner, "and I
prepared for it so that I could do what was right. I'd rather see my
daughter in her shroud than in a wedding-dress for you."
Dumont left without speaking or looking up.

"The old fox!" he said to himself. "Spying on me--what an idiot I was
not to look out for that. The narrow old fool! He doesn't know what
`man of the world' means. But I'll marry her in spite of him. I'll let
nobody cheat me out of what I want, what belongs to me."
A few nights afterward he went to a dance at Braddock's, hunted out
Pauline and seated himself beside her. In a year he had not been so near
her, though they had seen each other every few days and he had written
her many letters which she had read, had treasured, but had been held
from answering by her sense of honor, unless her looks whenever their
eyes met could be called answers.
"You mustn't, Jack," she said, her breath coming fast, her eyes
fever-bright. "Father has forbidden me--and it'll only make him the
harder."
"You, too, Polly? Well, then, I don't care what becomes of me."
He looked so desperate that she was frightened.
"It isn't that, Jack--you KNOW it isn't that."
"I've been to see your father. And he told me he'd never consent--never!
I don't deserve that--and I can't stand it to lose you. No matter what I've
done, God knows I love you, Polly."
Pauline's face was pale. Her hands, in her lap, were gripping her little
handkerchief.
"You don't say that, too--you don't say `never'?"
She raised her eyes to his and their look thrilled through and through
him. "Yes, John, I say `never'--I'll NEVER give you up."
All the decent instincts in his nature showed in his handsome face, in
which time had not as yet had the chance clearly to write character. "No
wonder I love you--there never was anybody so brave and so true as
you. But you must help me. I must see you and talk to you--once in a
while, anyhow."
Pauline flushed painfully.
"Not till--they--let me--or I'm older, John. They've always trusted me
and left me free. And I can't deceive them."
He liked this--it was another proof that she was, through and through,
the sort of woman who was worthy to be his wife.
"Well--we'll wait," he said. "And if they won't be fair to us, why, we'll
have a right to do the best we can." He gave her a tragic look.
"I've set my heart on you, Polly, and I never can stand it not to get what

I've set my heart on. If I lost you, I'd go straight to ruin."
She might have been a great deal older and wiser and still not have seen
in this a confirmation of her father's judgment of her lover. And her
parents had unconsciously driven her into a mental state in which, if he
had committed a crime, it would have seemed to her their fault rather
than his. The