"Why?"
"My sister cannot marry a--a nobody, an outsider----"
"Mr. Winfield is not a nobody. He is an extraordinarily healthy young
man."
"Are you aware that Ruth, if she had wished, could have married a
prince?"
"She told me. A little rat of a man, I understand. She had far too much
sense to do any such thing. She has a conscience. She knows what she
owes to the future of the----"
"Bah!" cried Bailey rudely.
"I suppose," said Mrs. Porter, "that, like most men, you care nothing
for the future of the race? You are not interested in eugenics?"
Bailey quivered with fury at the word, but said nothing.
"If you have ever studied even so elementary a subject as the colour
heredity of the Andalusian fowl----"
The colour heredity of the Andalusian fowl was too much for Bailey.
"I decline to discuss any such drivel," he said, rising. "I came here
to see Ruth, and--"
"And here she is," said Mrs. Porter.
The door opened, and Ruth appeared. She looked, to Bailey, insufferably
radiant and pleased with herself.
"Bailey!" she cried. "Whatever brings my little Bailey here, when he
ought to be working like a good boy in Wall Street?"
"I will tell you," Bailey's demeanour was portentous.
"He's frowning," said Ruth. "You have been stirring his hidden depths,
Aunt Lora!"
Bailey coughed.
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