“Come, honey,” said Van Aldin in a softer voice. “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?”