He tasted something of his daughter's sense of degradation at ever
having been connected with a man of so little character. The
experience was a bitterly humiliating one to him. For Bee was, in his
opinion, the cleanest, truest little thoroughbred under heaven. The
only questionable thing he had ever known her to do was to engage
herself to this man.
Colin came to a halt in front of the other.
"We've got to protect you, no matter how little you deserve it. I
can't have Bee's name dragged into all the papers of the country. The
case against Durand will have to be dropped. He's lost his power
anyhow and he'll never get it back."
"Then it doesn't matter much whether he's tried or not."
That phase of the subject Whitford did not pursue. He began to feel in
his vest pocket for something.
"Of course you understand that we're through with you, Bromfield.
Neither Beatrice nor I care to have anything more to do with you."
"I don't see why," protested Bromfield. "As a man of the world--"
"If you don't see the reason I'm not able to explain it to you."
Whitford's fingers found what they were looking for. He fished a ring
from his pocket and put it on the desk. "Beatrice asked me to give you
this."
"I don't think that's fair. If she wants to throw me over she ought to
tell me her reasons herself."
"She's telling them through me. I don't want to be more explicit
unless you force me."
"Of course I'm not good enough.
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