Now,
this hideous disaster threatened his pride at every turn--worse,
it threatened the one person in the world whom he really loved.
Most fathers would have stormed at the boy when pleading failed,
would have given commands with harshness, would have menaced the
recalcitrant with disinheritance. Edward Gilder did none of
these things, though his heart was sorely wounded. He loved his
son too much to contemplate making more evil for the lad by any
estrangement between them. Yet he felt that the matter could not
safely be left in the hands of Dick himself. He realized that
his son loved the woman--nor could he wonder much at that. His
keen eyes had perceived Mary Turner's graces of form, her
loveliness of face. He had apprehended, too, in some measure at
least, the fineness of her mental fiber and the capacities of her
heart. Deep within him, denied any outlet, he knew there lurked
a curious, subtle sympathy for the girl in her scheme of revenge
against himself. Her persistent striving toward the object of
her ambition was something he could understand, since the like
thing in different guise had been back of his own business
success.
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