"Morality doesn't seem to figure in it anyway—at least you and I can't discuss that together.
Your feelings on that score naturally relate to you alone.
But the matter of your own personal welfare seems to me to be substantial enough ground to base a plea on.
The family's feelings and pride are also fairly important.
Father's the kind of a man who sets more store by the honor of his family than most men.
You know that as well as I do, of course."
"I know how father feels about it," returned Lester.
"The whole business is as clear to me as it is to any of you, though off-hand I don't see just what's to be done about it.
These matters aren't always of a day's growth, and they can't be settled in a day.
The girl's here.
To a certain extent I'm responsible that she is here.
While I'm not willing to go into details, there's always more in these affairs than appears on the court calendar."
"Of course I don't know what your relations with her have been," returned Robert, "and I'm not curious to know, but it does look like a bit of injustice all around, don't you think—unless you intend to marry her?"
This last was put forth as a feeler.
"I might be willing to agree to that, too," was Lester's baffling reply, "if anything were to be gained by it.
The point is, the woman is here, and the family is in possession of the fact.
Now if there is anything to be done I have to do it.
There isn't anybody else who can act for me in this matter."
Lester lapsed into a silence, and Robert rose and paced the floor, coming back after a time to say:
"You say you haven't any idea of marrying her—or rather you haven't come to it.
I wouldn't, Lester.
It seems to me you would be making the mistake of your life, from every point of view.
I don't want to orate, but a man of your position has so much to lose; you can't afford to do it.
Aside from family considerations, you have too much at stake.
You'd be simply throwing your life away—"
He paused, with his right hand held out before him, as was customary when he was deeply in earnest, and Lester felt the candor and simplicity of this appeal.
Robert was not criticizing him now.
He was making an appeal to him, and this was somewhat different.
The appeal passed without comment, however, and then Robert began on a new tack, this time picturing old Archibald's fondness for Lester and the hope he had always entertained that he would marry some well-to-do Cincinnati girl, Catholic, if agreeable to him, but at least worthy of his station.
And Mrs. Kane felt the same way; surely Lester must realize that.
"I know just how all of them feel about it," Lester interrupted at last, "but I don't see that anything's to be done right now."
"You mean that you don't think it would be policy for you to give her up just at present?"
"I mean that she's been exceptionally good to me, and that I'm morally under obligations to do the best I can by her.
What that may be, I can't tell."
"To live with her?" inquired Robert coolly.
"Certainly not to turn her out bag and baggage if she has been accustomed to live with me," replied Lester.
Robert sat down again, as if he considered his recent appeal futile.
"Can't family reasons persuade you to make some amicable arrangements with her and let her go?"
"Not without due consideration of the matter; no."
"You don't think you could hold out some hope that the thing will end quickly—something that would give me a reasonable excuse for softening down the pain of it to the family?"
"I would be perfectly willing to do anything which would take away the edge of this thing for the family, but the truth's the truth, and I can't see any room for equivocation between you and me.
As I've said before, these relationships are involved with things which make it impossible to discuss them—unfair to me, unfair to the woman. No one can see how they are to be handled, except the people that are in them, and even they can't always see.
I'd be a damned dog to stand up here and give you my word to do anything except the best I can."
Lester stopped, and now Robert rose and paced the floor again, only to come back after a time and say,
"You don't think there's anything to be done just at present?"
"Not at present."
"Very well, then, I expect I might as well be going.
I don't know that there's anything else we can talk about."
"Won't you stay and take lunch with me?
I think I might manage to get down to the hotel if you'll stay."