It is true
that, at times, it needed all his strength of mind to keep his
thoughts from wandering back into that unprofitable and most
distasteful past - in the middle of the night even, he had woke up
suddenly with an old man's cry in his ears - or was it the whispering
of the night-wind in the tall elms? But he was not of an imaginative
nature. He felt himself strong enough to set his heel wholly upon
all those memories. If he had not erred on the side of generosity,
he had at least played the game fairly. Monty, if he had lived, could
only have been a disappointment and a humiliation. The picture was
hers - of that he had no doubt! Even then he was not sure that Monty
was her father. In any case she would never know. He recognised no
obligation on his part to broach the subject. The man had done his
best to cut himself altogether adrift from his former life. His
reasons doubtless had been sufficient. It was not necessary to pry
into them - it might even be unkindness. The picture, which no man
save himself had ever seen, was the only possible link between the
past and the present - between Scarlett Trent and his drunken old
partner, starved and fever-stricken, making their desperate effort for
wealth in unknown Africa, and the millionaire of to-day.
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