"Don't be afraid of your old Dad. I was not too harsh, was I, even that time in Paris?—By gosh!"
He stopped, thunderstruck.
"That's who it was," he murmured to himself. "I thought I knew his face."
"What are you talking about, Dad? I don't understand."
The millionaire strode across to her and took her firmly by the wrist.
"See here, Ruth, have you been seeing that fellow again?"
"What fellow?"
"The one we had all that fuss about years ago. You know who I mean well enough."
"You mean"—she hesitated—"you mean the Comte de la Roche?"
"Comte de la Roche!" snorted Van Aldin. "I told you at the time that the man was no better than a swindler. You had entangled yourself with him then very deeply, but I got you out of his clutches."
"Yes, you did," said Ruth bitterly. "And I married Derek Kettering."
"You wanted to," said the millionaire sharply.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"And now," said Van Aldin slowly, "you have been seeing him again—after all I told you. He has been in the house to-day. I met him outside, and couldn't place him for the moment."
Ruth Kettering had recovered her composure.
"I want to tell you one thing, Dad; you are wrong about Armand—the Comte de la Roche, I mean. Oh, I know there were several regrettable incidents in his
