"I am tired of heroics; Jimmie
Turnbull was hardly the man to inspire them."
"Stop!" Helen's voice rang out imperiously. "I will not permit one
word said in disparagement of Jimmie, least of all from you, father.
Wait," as he attempted to speak. "I do not know what traits of
character I may have inherited from you, but I have all mother's
loyalty, and - that loyalty belongs to Jimmie."
McIntyre's eyes shifted under her gaze.
"I regret very much this obsession," he said rising. "I will not
attempt to reason with you again, Helen, but "- he made no effort
to lower his voice, "the world - our world will soon know what
manner of man James Turnbull was, of that I am determined."
"And I "- Helen faced her father proudly - "I will leave no stone
unturned to defend his memory."
Her father wheeled about. "In doing so, see that you do not
compromise yourself," he remarked coldly, and before the infuriated
girl could answer, he slammed the door shut and stalked downstairs.
Some half hour later he opened the door of Rochester and Kent's law
office and would have walked unceremoniously into Kent's private
office had not John Sylvester stepped forward from behind his desk
in the corner.
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