It was, indeed, quite "easy"—surprisingly so, as the doctor soon found out. Not without some trepidation, however, had he taken the train for Dalton the next morning and presented his proposition to the master of Denby House.
"I think I've found your private secretary," he began blithely, hoping that his pounding heart-throbs did not really sound like a drum.
"You have? Good! What's her name? Somebody you know?" questioned Burke Denby, with a show of interest.
"Yes. She's a Miss Darling, and I've known her family for years." (The doctor gulped and swallowed a bit convulsively. The doctor was feeling that the very walls of the room must be shouting aloud his secret—but he kept bravely on.) "She doesn't know shorthand, but she can typewrite, and she's very quick at taking dictation in long hand, I fancy; and she knows several languages, I believe. I'm sure you'll find her capable and trustworthy in every way."
"Very good! Sounds well, sure," smiled Burke. "And here, for my needs, speed and shorthand are not so necessary. I do only personal business at the house. What salary does she want?"
So unexpected and disconcerting was this quite natural question that the doctor, totally unprepared for it, nearly betrayed himself by his confusion.
"Eh? Er—ah—oh, great Scott! Why didn't they—I might have known—" he floundered. Then, sharply, he recovered himself. "Well, really," he laughed lightly, "I'm a crackerjack at applying for a job, and no mistake! I quite forgot to ask what salary she did expect. But I don't believe that will matter materially. She'll come for what is right, I'm sure; and you'll be willing to pay that."
"Oh, yes; it doesn't matter. I'll be glad to give her a trial, anyway; and if she's all you crack her up to be I'll pay hermorethan what's right. When can she come? Where does she live?"
"Well, she's going to live here in Dalton," evaded the doctor cautiously. "She's not here yet; but she and her mother are coming—er—next week, I believe. Better not count on her beginning work till the first, though, perhaps. That'll be next week Thursday. I should think they ought to be—er—settled by that time." The doctor drew a long breath, much after the fashion of a man who has been crossing a bit of particularly thin ice.
"All right. Send her along. The sooner the better," nodded Burke, the old listless weariness coming back to his eyes. "I certainly need—some one."
"Oh, well, I reckon you'll have—some one, now," caroled the doctor, so jubilantly that it brought a frown of mild wonder to Burke Denby's face.
Later, the doctor, still jubilant and confident, hurried down the Denby walk intent on finding the "modest little apartment" for Helen.
"Oh, well, I don't know!" he exulted to himself, wagging his head like a cocksure boy. "This comic-opera-farce affair may not be so bad, after all. Anyhow, I've made my first exit—and haven't spilled anything yet. Now for scene second!"
Finding a satisfactory little furnished apartment, not too far from the Denby home, proved to be no small task. But by sacrificing a little on the matter of distance, the doctor was finally enabled to engage one that he thought would answer.
"Only she'll have to ride back and forth, I'm afraid," he muttered to himself, as he started for the station to take his train. "Anyhow, I'm glad I didn't take that one on Dale Street. She'd meet too many ghosts of old memories on Dale Street."
Buying his paper at the newsstand in the station, the doctor himself encountered the ghost of a memory. But he could not place it until the woman behind the counter cried:—
"There! I thought I'd seen you before. You come two years ago to the Denby fun'ral, now, didn't ye? I tell ye it takes me ter remember faces." Then, as he still frowned perplexedly, she explained: "Don't ye remember? My name's Cobb. I used ter live—" But the doctor had turned away impatiently. He remembered now. This was the woman who didn't "think much of old Denby" herself.
On Monday Helen Denby and her daughter went to Dalton. At Helen's urgent insistence the doctor refrained from accompanying them.
"I don't want you to be seen with us," Helen had protested.
"But why not?" he had argued rebelliously. "I thought I was a friend of your family for years."
"I know; but I—I just feel that I'd rather not have you with us. I prefer to go alone, please," she had begged. And perforce he had let her have her own way.
It was on a beautiful day in late September that Helen Denby and her daughter arrived at the Dalton station. Helen, fearful either that her features would be recognized, or that she would betray by word or look her knowledge of the place, and so bring an amazed question to Betty's lips, had drawn a heavy veil over her face. Betty, cheerily interested in everything she saw, kept up a running fire of comment.
"And so this is Dalton! What a funny little station—and for so big a place, too! It seemed to be big, as we came into it. Is Dalton a large town, mother?"
"Why, rather large. It used to be—that is, it must be a good deal over fifteen thousand now, I suppose," murmured the mother, speaking very unconcernedly.
"Then you've been here before?"
Helen, realizing that already she had made one mistake, suddenly became convinced that safety—and certainly tranquillity of mind—lay in telling the truth—to a certain extent.
"Oh, yes, I was here years ago. But the place is much changed, I fancy," she answered lightly. "Come, dear, we'll take a taxi. But first I want a paper. I want to look at the advertisements for a maid, and—"
She had almost reached the newsstand when, to Betty's surprise, she turned sharply about and walked the other way.
"Why, mother, I thought you said you wanted a paper," cried Betty, hurrying after her and plucking at her arm.
"But I didn't— I don't— I've changed my mind. I won't get it, after all, just now. I'd rather hurry right home."
She spoke rapidly, almost feverishly; and Betty noticed that she engaged the first cabby she saw, and seemed impatiently anxious to be off. What she did not see, however, was that twice her mother covertly glanced back at the newsstand, and that her face behind the veil was gray-white and terrified. And what Betty did not know was that, as the taxi started, her mother whispered frenziedly to herself:—
"That was—that was—Mrs. Cobb. She's older and grayer, but she's got Mrs. Cobb's eyes and nose. And the wart! I'd know that wart anywhere. And to think how near I came tospeakingto her!"
It was a short drive, and Helen and her daughter were soon in the apartment the doctor had found for them. To Helen it looked like a haven of refuge, indeed. Her near encounter with Mrs. Cobb at thestation had somewhat unnerved her. But with four friendly walls to protect her, and with no eyes but her daughter's in sight, Helen drew a long breath of relief, and threw off her veil, hat, and coat.
"Oh, isn't this dear!" she exclaimed, sinking into a chair, and looking admiringly about the pretty rooms. "And just think—this is home, our home! Oh, dearie, we're going to be happy here, I'm sure."
"Of course we are! And it is lovely here." The words were all right, but voice and eyes showed a trace of uneasiness.
"Why, dearie,don'tyou like it?" asked the girl's mother anxiously.
"Yes, oh, yes; I like it all—here. It's only that I was thinking, all of a sudden, about that Mr. Denby. I was wondering if I should like it there—with him."
"I think you will, dear."
"But it'll all be so new and—and different from what I've been used to. Don't you see?"
"Of course, my dear; but that's the way we grow—by encountering things new and different, you see. But come, we've got lots of things new and different right here that we haven't even seen yet. I'm going hunting for a wardrobe," finished the mother lightly, springing to her feet and picking up her hat and coat.
It was a pretty little apartment of five rooms up one flight, convenient, and tastefully furnished.
"I don't think even Burke could find fault with this," thought Helen, a bit wistfully, as her eyeslingered on the soft colorings and harmonious blendings of rugs and hangings. Aloud she said:—
"Dear me! I feel just like a little girl with a new doll-house, don't you?"
"Yes; and when our trunks come, and we get our photographs and things out, it will be lovely, won't it?"
Helen, at one of the windows, gave a sudden exclamation.
"Why, Betty, from this window we can see—"
"See what?" cried Betty, hurrying to the window, as her mother's words came to an abrupt halt.
"The city, dear, so much of it, and—and all those beautiful houses over there," stammered Helen. "See that church with the big dome, and the tall spire next it; and all those trees—that must be a park," she hurried on, pointing out anything and everything but the one big old colonial house with its tall pillars that stood out so beautifully fine and clear against the green of a wide lawn on the opposite hill.
"Oh-h! what a lovely view!" exclaimed Betty, at her side. "Why, I hadn't noticed it at all before, but we're on a hill ourselves, aren't we?"
"Yes, dear,—West Hill. That's what I think they used to call it."
Helen was not at the window now. She had turned back into the room with almost an indifferent air. But afterwards, when Betty was busy elsewhere, she went again to the window and stood for long minutes motionless, her eyes on the big old house on the oppositehill. It was ablaze, now, for the last rays of the sun had set every window gorgeously aflame. And not until it stood again gray and cold in the gathering dusk did Helen turn back into the room; and then it was with tear-wet eyes and a long sigh.
Getting settled was much the same thing that getting settled is always apt to be. There were the same first scrappy, unsatisfying meals, the same slow-emerging order from seemingly hopeless confusion, the same shifting of one's belongings from shelf to drawer and back again. In this case, however, there were only the trunks and their contents to be disposed of, and the getting settled was, after all, a short matter.
Much to Betty's disapproval, her mother early announced her intention of doing without a maid.
"Oh, but, mother, dear, you shouldn't. Besides, I thought you said you were going to have one."
"I thought at first I would, but I've changed my mind. There will be just us two, and I'd rather have a stout woman come twice a week for the laundry and cleaning. With you gone all day I shall need something—to take up my mind."
Betty said more, much more; but to no purpose. Her mother was still obdurate. It was then that into Betty's mind came a shrewd suspicion, but she did not give it voice. When evening came, however, she did ask some questions. It was the night before she was to go for the first time to take up her work.
"Mother, how did we happen to come up here, to Dalton?"
"Happen to come up—here?" Helen was taken by surprise. She was fencing for time.
"Yes. What made us come here?"
"Why, I—I wanted to be near to make a home for you, of course, while you were at work."
"But why am I going to work?"
Helen stirred restlessly.
"Why, my dear, I've told you. I think every girl should have something whereby she could earn her bread, if it were necessary. And when this chance came, through Dr. Gleason, I thought it was just the thing for you to do."
Indifferently Betty asked two or three other questions—immaterial, irrelevant questions that led her quite away from the matter in hand. Then, as if still casually, she uttered the one question that had been the purpose of the whole talk.
"Mother, have we very much—money?"
"Why, no, dear, not so very much. But I wouldn't worry about the money."
The answer had come promptly and with a reassuring smile. But Betty tossed both the promptness and the reassuring smile into the limbo of disdain. Betty had her answer. She was convinced now. Her mother was poor—very poor. That was why there was to be no maid. That was why she herself was to go as secretary to this Mr. Denby the next day. Mother, poor, dear mother, was poor! As ifnowshe cared whether she liked the place or not! As if she would not be glad to work her fingers off for mother!
"I shall take you over, myself," said Helen to her daughter as they rose from the breakfast table that first day of October. "And I shall show you carefully just how to come back this afternoon; but I'm afraid I shall have to let you come back alone, dear. In the first place, I shouldn't know when you were ready; and in the second place, I shouldn't want to go and wait for you."
"Of course not!" cried Betty. "As if I'd let you—and you don't even have to go with me. I can find out by asking."
"No, I shall go with you." Betty noticed that her mother's cheeks were very pink and her eyes very bright. "Don't forget the doctor's letter; and remember, dear, just be—be your own dear sweet self."
"Why, mother, you're—crying!" exclaimed the dismayed Betty.
"Crying? Not a bit of it!" The head came proudly erect.
"But does it mean so much to you that I—that I—that he—likes me?" asked Betty softly.
The next moment, alarmed and amazed, she found her mother's convulsive arms about her, her mother's trembling voice in her ears.
"It'll mean all the world to me, Betty—oh, Betty, my baby!"
"Why, mother!" exclaimed the girl, aghast and shaken.
But already her mother had drawn herself up, and was laughing through her tears.
"Dear, dear, but only look at the fuss this old mother-bird is making at the first flight of her young one!" she chattered gayly. "Come, no more of this! We'll be late. We'll get ready right away. You say you have the letter from the doctor. Don't forget that."
"No, I won't. I have it all safe," tossed the girl over her shoulder, as she hurried away for her hat and coat. A minute later she came back to find her mother shrouding herself in the black veil. "Oh, mother, dear,please! You aren't going to wear that horrid veil to-day, are you?" she remonstrated.
"Why, yes, dear. Why not?"
"I don't like it a bit. And it's so thick! I can't see a bit ofyouthrough it."
"Can't you? Good!" (Vaguely Betty wondered at the almost gleeful tone of the voice.) "Then nobody can see my eyes—and know that I've been crying."
"Ho! they wouldn't, anyway," frowned Betty. "Your eyes aren't red at all, mother."
But the mother only laughed again gleefully—and fastened the veil with still another pin. A minute later mother and daughter left the house together.
It was not a long ride to the foot of the street that led up the hill to Burke Denby's home. With carefully minute directions as to the return home at night,Helen left her daughter halfway up the hill, with the huge wrought-iron gates of the Denby driveway just before her.
"And now remember everything—everything, dear," she faltered, clinging a little convulsively to her daughter's arm. "Dear, dear, but I'm not sure I ought to let you go—after all," she choked.
"Nonsense, mumsey! Of course you ought to let me go!"
"Then you must remember to tell me everything—when you come home to-night—everything. I shall want to know every single little thing that's happened!"
"I will, dear, I will. And don't worry. I'm sure I'm going to do all right," comforted the girl, plainly trying to quiet the anxious fear in her mother's voice. "And what a beautiful old place it is!" she went on, her admiring eyes sweeping the handsome house and spacious grounds beyond the gates. "I shall love it there, I know. And I'm so glad the doctor got it for me. Now, don't worry!" she finished with a gay wave of her hand as she turned and sped up the hill.
The mother, with a last lingering look and a sob fortunately smothered in the enshrouding veil, turned and hurried away in the opposite direction.
Many times before Betty's return late that afternoon, Helen wondered that a day, just one little day, could be so long. It seemed to her that each minute was an hour, and each hour a day, so slowly did the clock tick the time away. She tried to work, to sew, toread. But there seemed really nothing that she wanted to do except to stand at one of the windows, her eyes on the massive, white-pillared old house set in its wide sweep of green on the opposite hill.
What was happening over there? Was there a possible chance that Burke would question, suspect, discover—anything? How would he like—Betty? How would Betty like him? How would Betty do, anyway, in such a position? It was Betty's first experience in—in working for any one; and Betty—sweet and dear and loving as she was—had something of the Denby will and temper, as her mother had long since discovered. Betty was fearless and high-spirited. If she did not like—but what was happening over there?
And what would the outcome be? After all, perhaps, as the doctor had said, it was something of a comic opera and farce all in one—this thing she was doing. Very likely the whole thing, from the first, when she ran away years ago, had been absurd and preposterous, just as the doctor had said. And very likely Burke himself, when he found out, would think so, too. It was a fearsome thing—to take matters in her own hands as she had done, and attempt to twist the thread in Fate's hands, and wrest it away from what she feared was destruction—as if her own puny fingers could deal with Destiny!
And might it not be, after all, that she had been chasing a will-o'-the-wisp of fancied "culture" all these years? True, she no longer said "swell" and"grand," and she knew how to eat her soup quietly; but was that going to make Burke—love her? She realized now something of what it was that she had undertaken when she fled to the doctor years ago. She realized, too, that during these intervening years there had come to her a very real sense of what love, marriage, and a happy home ought to mean—and what they must mean if she were ever to be happy with Burke, or to make him happy.
But what was taking place—over there?
At ten minutes before five Betty reached home. Her mother met her halfway down the stairs.
"Oh, Betty, you—youarehere!" she panted. "Now, tell me everything—every single thing," she reiterated, almost dragging the girl into the apartment, in her haste and excitement. "Don't skip anything—not the least little thing; for a little thing might mean so much—to me."
"Why, mother!" exclaimed Betty, her laughing eyes growing vaguely troubled. "Do you reallycareso much?"
With a sudden tightening of the throat Helen pulled herself up sharply. She gave a light laugh.
"Care? Of course I care! Don't you suppose I want to know what my baby has been doing all the long day away from me? Now, tell me. Sit right down and tell me from the beginning."
"All right, I will," smiled Betty. To herself she said: "Poor mother! As if I wouldn't work my fingers off before I'd fail her, when she cares so much—whensheneedsso much—what I earn!" Then, aloud, cheerily, she began:—
"SO I RANG THE BELL.""SO I RANG THE BELL."
"Well, first, I walked up that long, long walk through that beautiful lawn to the house; but for a minute I didn't ring the bell. It was so beautiful—the view from that veranda, with the sun on the reds and browns and yellows of the trees everywhere! Then I remembered suddenly that I hadn't come to make a call and admire the view, but that I was a business woman now. So I rang the bell. There was a lovely old brass knocker on the great door; but I saw a very conspicuous push-button, and I concluded that was for real use."
"Yes, yes. And were you—frightened, dear?"
"Well, 'nervous,' we'll call it. Then, as I was planning just what to say, the door opened and the oldest little old man I ever saw stood before me."
"Yes, go on!"
"He was the butler, I found out afterwards. They called him Benton. He seemed surprised, somehow, to see me, or frightened, or something. Anyway, he started queerly, as his eyes met mine, and he muttered a quick something under his breath; but all I could hear was the last, 'No, no, it couldn't be!'"
"Yes—yes!" breathed Helen, her face a little white.
"The next minute he became so stiff and straight and dignified that even his English cousin might have envied him. I told him I was Miss Darling, and that I had a note to Mr. Denby from Dr. Gleason.
"'Yes, Miss. The master is expecting you. He said to show you right in. This way, please,' he said then, pompously. And then I saw that great hall. Oh, mother, if you could see it! It's wonderful, and so full of treasures! I could hardly take off my hat and coat properly, for devouring a superb specimen of old armor right in front of me. Then Benton took me into the library, and I saw—something even more wonderful."
"You mean your—er—Mr. Denby?" The mother's face was aglow.
Betty gave a merry laugh.
"Indeed, I don't! Oh, he was there, but he was no wonder, mother, dear. The wonder was cabinet after cabinet filled with jades and bronzes and carved ivories and Babylonian tablets and— But I couldn't begin to tell you! I couldn't even begin to see for myself, for, of course, I had to say something to Mr. Denby."
"Of course! And tell me—what was he—he like?"
"Oh, he was just a man, tall and stern-looking, and a little gray. He's old, you know. He isn't young at all"—spoken with all the serene confidence of Betty's eighteen years. "He has nice eyes, and I imaginehe'dbe nice, if he'd let himself be. But he won't."
"Why, Betty, what—what do you mean?"
Betty laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, mother, dear, you'd have to see him reallyto know. It's just that—that he's so used to having his own way that he takes it as a matter of course, as his right."
"Oh, my dear!"
"But he does. It shows up in everything that everybody in that house does. I could see that, even in this one day I was there. Benton, Sarah (the maid), Mrs. Gowing (the old cousin housekeeper)—even the dog and the cat show that they've stood at attention for Master Burke Denby all their lives. You just wait till I getmychance. I'll show him somebody that isn't standing at salute all the time."
"Betty!" There was real horror in the woman's voice this time.
Again Betty's merry laugh rang out.
"Don't look so shocked, dearie. I shan't do anything or say anything to imperil my—my job." (Betty's eyes twinkled even more merrily over the last word.) "It's just that I don't think any living man has a right to make everybody so afraid of him as Mr. Denby very plainly has done. And I only mean that if the occasion ever came up, I should let him know that I am not afraid of him."
"Oh, Betty, Betty, be careful, becareful. I beg of you, be careful!"
"Oh, I will. Don't worry," laughed the girl. "But, listen, don't you want me to go on with my story?"
"Yes—oh, yes!"
"Well, where was I? Oh, I know—just inside the library door. Very good, then. Ruthlessly suppressingmy almost overwhelming longing to pounce on one of those alluring cabinets, I advanced properly and held out my note to Mr. Denby. As I came near I fancied that he, too, gave a slight start as he looked sharply into my face; and I thought I caught a real gleam of life in his eyes. The next instant it was gone, however (if indeed it had ever been there!), and he had taken my note and waved me politely to a chair."
"Yes, go on, go on!"
"Yes; well, do you know?—that's exactly what I felt like saying to him," laughed Betty softly. "He just glanced at the note with a low ejaculation; then he sat there staring at nothing for so long that I began to think I should scream from sheer nervousness. Then, perhaps I stirred a little. At all events, he turned with a start, and then is when I saw, for just a minute, how kind his eyes could be.
"'There, there, my child, I beg your pardon,' he cried. 'I quite forgot you were here. Something—your eyes, I think—set me to dreaming. Now to business! Perhaps you'll be good enough to take some letters for me. You'll find pencils, pen, and paper there at your right.' And I did. And I began. And that's all."
"All! But surely there was more!"
"Not much. I took dictation in long hand for perhaps a dozen letters—most of them short ones. He said he was behind on his personal correspondence. Then he went away and left me. He goes down to his office at the Denby Iron Works every forenoon,I understand. Anyway, there I was, left in that fascinating room with all those cabinets full of treasures that I so longed to explore, but tied to a lot of scrawly notes and a typewriter. I forgot to say there was one of those disappearing typewriters in a desk over by the window. It wasn't quite like Gladys's, but the keyboard was, and I very soon got the run of it.
"At one o'clock he came back. I had the letters all done, and they looked lovely. I was rather proud of them. I passed them over for him to sign, and waited expectantly for a nice little word of commendation—which I didn't get."
"Oh, but I'm sure he didn't—didn't realize that—that—"
"Oh, no, he didn't realize, of course, that this was my maiden effort at private secretarying," laughed Betty, a little ruefully, "and that I wanted to be patted on the head with a 'Well done, little girl!' He just shoved them back for me to fold and put in the envelopes; and just then Benton came to announce luncheon."
"But tell me about the luncheon."
"There isn't much to tell. There were just us three at the table, Mr. Denby, Mrs. Gowing, and myself. There was plenty to eat, and it was very nice. But, dear, dear, the dreariness of it! With the soup Mrs. Gowing observed that it was a nice day. With the chicken patties she asked if I liked Dalton; and with the salad she remarked that we had had an unusually cold summer. Dessert was eaten in uttersilence. Why, mother, I should die if I had to spend my life in an atmosphere like that!"
"But didn't Mr. Denby say—anything?"
"Oh, yes. He asked me for the salt, and he gave an order to Benton. Oh, he's such fascinating company—he is!"
At the disturbed expression on her mother's face, Betty gave a playful shrug. "Oh, I know, he's my respected employer, and all that," she laughed; "and I shall be very careful to do his bidding. Never fear! But that doesn't mean that I've got to love him."
Helen Denby flushed a painful red.
"But I wanted—I hoped you would—er—l-like him, my dear," she faltered.
"Maybe I shall—when I get him—er—trained," retorted Betty, flashing a merry glance into her mother's dismayed eyes. "Don't worry, dear. I was a perfect angel to him to-day. Truly I was. Listen! After luncheon Mr. Denby brought me three or four newspapers which he had marked here and there; and for an hour then I read to him. And what do you think?—when I had finished he said, in that crisp short way of his: 'You have a good voice, Miss Darling. I hope you won't mind if I ask you to read to me often.' And of course I smiled and said no, indeed, I should be glad to read as often as he liked."
"Of course!" beamed the mother, with so decided an emphasis that Betty exclaimed warningly:—
"Tut, tut, now! Don'tyougo to tumbling down and worshiping him like all the rest."
"W-worshiping him!" Helen Denby's cheeks were scarlet.
"Yes," nodded Betty, with tranquil superiority. "It isn't good for him, I tell you. He doesn't get anything but worship from every single one of those people around him. Honestly, if he should declare that the earth was flat, I think that ridiculous old butler and that scared cousin housekeeper would bow: 'Just as you say, sir, just as you say.' Humph! He'd better tellmethe world is flat, some day."
"Oh, Betty! Betty!" implored Betty's mother.
But Betty only went on with a merry toss of her head:—
"Well, after the reading there were other letters, then some work on a card-index record of his correspondence. After that I came home. But, mother, oh, mother, only think what it'll be when we begin to catalogue all those treasures in his cabinets. And we're going to do it. He said we were. It seems as if I just couldn't wait!"
"But you will be careful what you say to him, dear," begged the mother again, anxiously. "He wouldn't understand your mischief, dear, and I—I'm sure he wouldn't like it."
Betty stooped to give a playful kiss.
"Careful? Why, mumsey, dear, when we get at those cabinets he may tell me a dozen times the earth is flat, if he wants to, and I won't so much as blink—if I think there's any danger of my getting cheated out of that cataloguing!"
Helen did not go with her daughter to Denby House the second morning. Betty insisted that she was quite capable of taking the short trip by herself and Helen seemed nothing loath to remain at home. Helen never seemed, indeed, loath to remain at home these days—especially during daylight. In the evening, frequently, she went out for a little walk with Betty. Then was when she did her simple marketing. Then, too, was the only time she would go out without the heavy black veil. Betty, being away all day, and at home only after five o'clock, did not notice all these points at first. As time passed, however, she did wonder why her mother never would go out on Sunday. Still, Betty was too thoroughly absorbed in her own new experiences to pay much attention to anything else. Every morning at nine o'clock she left the house, eager for the day's work; and every afternoon, soon after five, she was back in the tiny home, answering her mother's hurried questions as to what had happened through the day.
"And you're so lovely and interested in every little thing!" she exclaimed to her mother one day.
"But Iaminterested, my dear, in every little thing," came the quick answer. And Betty, looking at her mother's flushed face and trembling lips feltsuddenly again the tightening at her throat—that her success or failure should mean so much to mother—dear mother who was trying so hard not to show how poor they were!
For perhaps a week Betty reported little change in the daily routine of her work. She wrote letters, read from books, magazines, or newspapers, worked on the card-index record of correspondence, and sorted papers, pamphlets, and circulars that had apparently been accumulating for weeks.
"But I'm getting along beautifully," she declared one day. "I've got Mrs. Gowing thawed so she actually says as many as three sentences to a course now. And you should see the beaming smile Benton gives me every morning!"
"And—Mr. Denby?" questioned her mother, with poorly concealed eagerness.
Betty lifted her brows and tossed her young head.
"Well, he's improving," she flashed mischievously. "He asked for the saltandthe pepper, yesterday. And to-day he actually observed that he thought it looked like snow—at the table, I mean. Of course he speaks to me about my work through the day; but he doesn't say any more than is necessary. Truly, mother, dear, I'd never leave my happy home forhim."
"Oh, Betty, how can you say—such dreadful things!"
Betty laughed again mischievously.
"Don't worry, mumsey. He'll never ask me to doit! But, honestly, mother, I can't see any use in a man's being so stern and glum all the time."
"Does he really act so unhappy, then?"
At an unmistakable something in her mother's voice Betty looked up in surprise.
"Why, mother, that sounded exactly as if you weregladhe was unhappy!" she exclaimed.
Helen, secretly dismayed and terrified, boldly flaunted the flag of courage.
"Did I? Oh, no," she laughed easily. "Still, I'm not so sure but I am a little glad: if he's unhappy, all the more chance for you to make yourself indispensable by helping him and making him happy. See?"
"Happy!" scoffed Betty with superb disdain; "why, the man doesn't know what the word means."
"But perhaps he has seen—a great deal of trouble, dear." The mother's eyes were gravely tender.
"Perhaps he has. But is that any reason for inflicting it on other people by reflection?" demanded Betty, with all of youth's intolerance for age and its incomprehensible attitudes. "Does it do any possible good, either to himself or to anybody else, to retire behind a frown and a grunt, and look out upon all those beautiful things around him through eyes that are like a piece of cold steel? Of course it doesn't!"
"Oh, Betty, how can you!" protested the dismayed mother again.
But Betty, with a laugh and a spasmodic hug that ended in a playful little shake, retorted with all her old gay sauciness:—
"Don't you worry, mumsey. I'm a perfect angel to that man." Then, wickedly, she added as she whisked off: "You see, I haven't yet had a chance to poke even one finger inside of one of those cabinets!"
It was three days later that Betty, having put on her hat and coat at Denby House, had occasion to go back into the library to speak to her employer.
"Mr. Denby, shall I—" she began; then fell back in amazement. The man before her had leaped to his feet and started toward her, his face white like paper.
"Good God!—you!" he exclaimed. The next instant he stopped short, the blood rushing back to his face. "Oh,Miss Darling! I—er—I thought, for a moment, you were—What a fool!" With the last low muttered words he turned and sat down heavily.
Betty, to whom the whole amazing sentence was distinctly audible, lifted demure eyes to his face.
"I beg your pardon, you said—" The sentence came to a suggestive pause. Into Betty's demure eyes flashed an unmistakable twinkle.
The man stared, frowned, then flushed a deeper red as full comprehension came. He gave a grim laugh.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Darling. That epithet was meant for me—not you." He hesitated, his eyes still searching her face. "Strange—strange!" he muttered then; "but I wonder what made you suddenly look so much like— Take off your hat, please," he directed abruptly. "There!" he exclaimed triumphantly, as Betty pulled out the pins and lifted the hat from her head, "that explains it—yourhat! Before, when I first saw you, your eyes reminded me of—of some one, and with your hat on the likeness is much more striking. For a moment I was actually fool enough to think—and I forgot she must be twice your age now, too," he finished under his breath.
Betty waited a silent minute at the door; then, apparently still unnoticed, she turned and left the room, pinning her hat on again in the hall.
To her mother that afternoon she carried a jubilant countenance. "Well, mother, he's alive! I've found out that much," she announced merrily.
"He? Who?"
"Mr. Burke Denby, to be sure."
"Alive! Why, Betty, what do you mean?"
"He's alive—like folks," twinkled Betty. "He's got memory, a heart, and Ithinka sense of humor. I'm sure he did laugh a little over calling me a fool."
"A fool! Child, what have you done now?" moaned Betty's mother.
"Nothing, dear, nothing—but put on my hat," chuckled Betty irrepressibly. "Listen, and I'll tell you." And she drew a vivid picture of the scene in the library. "There, what did I tell you?" she demanded in conclusion. "Did I do anything but put on my hat?"
"Oh, but Betty, you mustn't, you can't—that is, you must— I mean,pleasebe careful!" On Helen's face joy and terror were fighting a battle royal.
"Careful? Of course I'm careful," cried Betty."Didn't I stand as still as a mouse while he was sitting there with his beetling brows bent in solemn thought? And then didn't I turn without a word and pussy-step out of the room when I saw that he had ceased to realize that there was such a being in the world as little I? Indeed, I did! And not till I got out of doors did I remember that I had gone into that library in the first place to ask a question. But I didn't go back. The question would keep—and that was more than I could promise of his temper, if I disturbed him then. So I came home. But I just can't wait now to get back. Only think how much more interesting things are going to be now!"
"Why, y-yes, I suppose so," breathed Helen, a little doubtfully.
"Oh, yes, I shall be watching always for him to come alive again. Besides, it's so romantic! It's a love-story, of course."
"Why, Betty, what an idea!" The mother's face flamed instantly scarlet.
"Why, of course it is, mother. If you could have seen his face you'd have known that no one but somebody he cared very much for could have broughtthatlook to it. You see, he thought for a moment that I was she. Then he said, 'What a fool!' and sat down. Next he just looked at me; and, mother, in his eyes there were just years and years of sorrow all rolled into that one minute."
"Were there—really?" The mother's face was turned quite away now.
"Yes. And don't you see? I'm not going to mind now ever what he says and does, nor how glum he is; for Iknowdown inside, he's got a heart. And only think,I look like her!" finished Betty, suddenly springing to her feet, and whirling about in ecstasy. "Oh, it's so exciting, isn't it?"
But her mother did not answer. She did not seem to have heard, perhaps because her back was turned. She had crossed the room to the window. Betty, following her, put a loving arm about her shoulders.
"Oh, and, mother, look!" she exclaimed eagerly. "I was going to tell you. I discovered it last Sunday. You can see the Denby House from here. Did you know it? It's so near dark now, it isn't very clear, but there's a light in the library windows, and others upstairs, too. See? Right through there at the left of that dark clump of trees, set in the middle of that open space. That's the lawn, and you can just make out the tall white pillars of the veranda. See?"
"Oh, yes, I see. Yes, so you can, can't you?"
Helen's voice was light and cheery, and carefully impersonal, carrying no hint of her inward tumult, for which she was devoutly thankful.
In spite of her high expectations, Betty came from Denby House the next afternoon with pouting lips.
"He's just exactly the same as ever, only more so, if anything," she complained to her mother. "He dictated his letters, then for an hour, I think, he just sat at his desk doing nothing, with his hand shielding his eyes. Twice, though, I caught him looking atme. But his eyes weren't kind and—and human, as they were yesterday. They were their usual little bits of cold steel. He went off then to his office at the Works (he said he was going there), and he never came home even to luncheon. I didn't have half work enough to do, and—and the cabinets were locked. I tried them. At four he came in, signed the letters, said good-afternoon and stalked upstairs. And that's the last I saw of him."
Nightly, after this, for a time, Betty gave forth what she called the "latest bulletin concerning the patient":—
"No change."
"Sat up and took notice."
"Slight rise in temper."
"Dull and listless."
Such were her reports. Then came the day when she impressively announced that the patient showed really marked improvement. He asked her to pass not only the salt and the pepper, but the olives.
"And, indeed, when you come to think of it," she went on with mock gravity, "there's mighty little else he can ask me to pass, in the way of making voluntary conversation; for Benton and Sarah do everything almost, except lift the individual mouthfuls for our consumption."
"Oh, Betty, Betty!" protested her mother.
"Yes, yes, I know—that was dreadful, wasn't it, dearie?" laughed Betty contritely. "But you see I have to be so still and proper up there thathome becomes a regular safety-valve; and you know safety-valves are necessary—absolutely necessary."
Helen, gazing with fond, meditative eyes at the girl's bright face, drew a tremulous sigh.
"Yes, I know, dear; but, you see, I'm so—afraid."
"You shouldn't be—not with a safety-valve," retorted Betty. "But, really," she added, turning back laughingly, "there is one funny thing: he never stays around now when there's any chance of his seeing me with my hat on again. I've noticed it. Every single night since that time he did see me a week ago, he's bade me his stiff good-afternoon and gone upstairsbeforeI'm ready to leave."
"Betty, really?" cried Helen so eagerly that Betty wheeled and faced her with a mischievous laugh.
"Who's interestednowin Mr. Burke Denby's love-story?" she challenged. But her mother, her hands to her ears, had fled.
It was the very next afternoon that Betty came home so wildly excited that not for a full five minutes could her startled mother obtain anything like a lucid story of the day. Then it came.
"Yes, yes, I know, dear, of course you can't make anything out of what I say. But listen. I'll begin at the beginning. It was like this: This morning he had only a few letters for me. Then, in that tired voice he uses most of the time, he said: 'I think perhaps now, we might as well begin on the cataloguing. Everything else is pretty well caught up.' I jumped up and down and clapped my hands, and—"
"You didwhat?" demanded her mother aghast.
Betty's nose wrinkled in a saucy little grimace.
"Oh, I meaninside of me.OutsideI just said, 'Yes, sir,' or 'Very well, Mr. Denby,' or something prim and proper like that.
"Well, then he showed me huge drawers full of notes and clippings in a perfectly hopeless mass of confusion, and he unlocked one of the cabinets and took out the dearest little squat Buddha with diamond eyes, and showed me a number on the base. 'There, Miss Darling,' he began again in that tired voice of his, 'some of these notes and clippings are numbered in pencil to correspond with numbers like these on the curios; but many of them are not numbered at all. Unfortunately, many of the curios, too, lack numbers. All you can do, of course, is to sort out the papers by number, separating into a single pile all those that bear no number. I shall have to help you about those. You won't, of course, know where they go. I may have trouble myself to identify some of them. Later, after the preliminary work is done, each object will be entered on a card, together with a condensed tabulation of when and where I obtained it, its age, history—anything, in short, that we can find pertaining to it. The thing to do first, however, is to go through these drawers and sort out their contents by number."
"Having said this (still in that weary voice of his), he put back the little Buddha,—which my fingers were just tingling to get hold of,—waved his handtoward the drawers and papers, and marched out of the room. Then I set to work."
"But what did you do? How did you do it? What were those papers?"
"They were everything, mumsey: clippings from magazines and papers and sales catalogues of antiques, typewritten notes, and scrawls in long hand telling when and where and how Mr. Burke Denby or his father had found this or that thing. But what a mess they were in! And such a lot of them without the sign of a number!
"First, of course, I took a drawer and sorted the numbers into little piles on the big flat library table. Some of them had ten or a dozen, all one number. That work was very easy—only I did so want to read every last one of those notes and clippings! But of course I couldn't stop for that then. But I did read some of the unnumbered ones, and pretty quick I found one that I just knew referred to the little diamond-eyed Buddha Mr. Denby had taken out of the cabinet. I couldn't resist then. I just had to go and get it and find out. And I did—and it was; so I put them together on the library table.
"Then I noticed in the same cabinet a little old worn toby jug—a shepherd plaid—about the oldest and rarest there is, you know; and I knew I had three or four unnumbered notes on toby jugs—and, sure enough! three of them fitted this toby; and I putthemtogether, with the jug on top, on the library table. Of course I was wild then to find some more.In the other cabinets that weren't unlocked, I could see, through the glass doors, a lot more things, and some of them, I was sure, fitted some of my unnumbered notes; but of course they didn't do me any good, as I couldn't get at them. One perfectly beautiful Oriental lacquered cabinet with diamond-paned doors was full of tablets, big and little, and I was crazy to get at those— I had a lot of notes about tablets. I did find in my cabinet, though, a little package of Chinese bank-notes, and I was sure I had something on those. And I had. I knew about them, anyway. I had seen some in London. These dated 'way back to the Tang dynasty—sixth century, you know—and were just as smooth! They're made of a kind of paper that crumples up like silk, but doesn't show creases. They had little rings printed on them of different sizes for different values, so that even the ignorant people couldn't be deceived, and—"
"Yes, yes, dear, but go on—go on," interrupted the eager-eyed mother, with a smile. "I want to know what happenedhere—not back in the sixth century!"
"Yes, yes, I know," breathed Betty; "but they weresointeresting—those things were! Well, of course I put the bank-notes with their clippings on the table; then I began on another drawer. It got to be one o'clock very soon, and Mr. Denby came home to luncheon. I wish you could have seen his face when he entered the library and saw what I had done. His whole countenance lighted up. Why, he lookedactually handsome!—and he's forty, if he's a day! And there wasn't a shred of tiredness in his voice.
"Then when he found the bank-notes and the Buddha and the toby jug with the unnumbered clippings belonging to them, he got almost as excited as I was. And when he saw how interested I was, he unlocked the other cabinets—and how we did talk, both at once! Anyhow, whenever I stopped to get my breath he was always talking; and I never could wait for him to finish, there was so much I wanted to ask.
"Poor old Benton! I don't know how many times he announced luncheon before it dawned over us that he was there at all; and he looked positively apoplectic when we did turn and see him. I don't dare to think how long we kept luncheon waiting. But everything had that flat, kept-hot-too-long taste, and Benton and Sarah served it with the air of injured saints. Mrs. Gowing showed meek disapproval, and didn't make even one remark to a course—but perhaps, after all, that was because she didn't have a chance. You see, Mr. Denby and I talked all the time ourselves."
"But I thought he—he never talked."
"He hasn't—before. But you see to-day he had such a lot to tell me about the things—how he came by them, and all that. And every single one of them has got a story. And he has such wonderful things! After luncheon he showed them to me—some of them: such marvelous bronzes and carved ivoriesand Babylonian tablets. He's got one with a real thumb-print on it—think of it, a thumb-print five thousand years old! And he's got a wonderful Buddha two thousand years old from a Chinese temple, and he knows the officer who got it—during the Boxer Rebellion, you know. And he's got another, not so old, of Himalayan Indian wood, exquisitely carved, and half covered with jewels.
"Why, mother, he's traveled all over the world, and everywhere he's found something wonderful or beautiful to bring home. I couldn't begin to tell you, if I talked all night. And he seemed so pleased because I was interested, and because I could appreciate to some extent, their value."
"I can—imagine it!" There was a little catch in Helen Denby's voice, but Betty did not notice it.
"Yes, and that makes me think," she went on blithely. "He said such a funny thing once. It was when I held in my hand the Babylonian tablet with the thumb-mark. I had just been saying how I wished the little tablet had the power to transport the holder of it back to a vision of the man who had made that thumb-print, when he looked at me so queerly, and muttered: 'Humph! theyaremore than potatoes to you, aren't they?' Potatoes, indeed! What do you suppose made him say that? Oh, and that is when he asked me, too, how I came to know so much about jades and ivories and Egyptian antiques."
"What did you tell him?"
At the startled half terror in her mother's voice Betty's eyes widened.
"Why, that I learned in London, of course, with you and Gladys and Miss Hughes, poking around old shops there—and everywhere else that we could find them, wherever we were.Youknow how we used to go 'digging,' as Gladys called it."
"Yes, I know," subsided the mother, a little faintly.
"Well, we worked all the afternoon—together!—Mr. Denby and I did. What do you think of that?" resumed Betty, after a moment's pause. "And not once since this morning have I heard any tiredness in Mr. Burke Denby's voice, if you please."
"But how—how long is this going to take you?"
"Oh, ages and ages! It can't help it. Why, mother, there are such a lot of them, and such a whole lot about some of them. Others, that he doesn't know so much about, we're going to look up. He has lots of books on such things, and he's buying more all the time. Then all this stuff has got to be condensed and tabulated and put on cards and filed away. But I love it—every bit of it; and I'm so excited to think I've really begun it. And he's every whit as excited as I am, mother. Listen! He actually forgot all about running away to-night before I put on my hat. And I never thought of it till just as I was pinning it on. He had followed me out into the hall to tell me something about the old armor in the corner; then, all of a sudden, he stopped—off—short, just like that, and said, 'Good-night, Miss Darling,'in his old stiff way. As he turned and went upstairs I caught sight of his face. I knew then. It was the hat. I had reminded him again of—her. But I shan't mind, now, if he is stern and glum sometimes—not with a Babylonian tablet or a Chinese Buddha for company. Oh, mother, if you could see those wonderful things. But maybe sometime you will. I shouldn't wonder."
"Maybe sometime—I—will!" faltered the mother, growing a little white. "Why, Betty, what do you mean?"
"Why, I mean, maybe I can take you sometime— I'll ask Mr. Denby by and by, after we get things straightened out, if he won't let me bring you some day to see them."
"Oh, no, no, Betty, don't—pleasedon't! I—I couldn't think of such a thing!"
Betty laughed merrily.
"Why, mumsey, you needn't look so frightened. They won't bite you. There aren't any of those thingsalive, dear!"
"No, of course not. But I'm—I'm sure I—I wouldn't be able to appreciate them at all."
"But in London you weretryingto learn to be interested in such things," persisted Betty, still earnestly. "Don't you know? You said youwantedto learn to like them, and to appreciate them."
"Yes, I know. But I'm sure I wouldn't like to—to trouble Mr. Denby—here," stammered the mother, her face still very white.
It was shortly before Christmas that Frank Gleason ran up to Dalton. He went first to see Burke Denby.
Burke greeted him with hearty cordiality.
"Hullo, Gleason! Good—you're just in time for dinner. But where's your bag? You aren't going back to-night!"
"No, but I am to-morrow morning, very early, so I left my grip at the hotel. Yes, yes, I know—you'd have had me here, and routed the whole house up at midnight," he went on laughingly, shaking his head at Burke's prompt remonstrations, "if I but said the word. But I'm not going to trouble you this time. I'll be delighted to stay to dinner, however,—if I get an invitation," he smiled.
"An invitation! As if you needed an invitation for—anything, in this house," scoffed Denby. "All mine is thine, as you know very well."
"Thanks. I've half a mind to put you to the test—say with that pet thumb-marked tablet of yours," retorted the doctor, with a lift of his eyebrows. "However, we'll let it go at a dinner this time.—You're looking better, old man," he said some time later, as they sat at the table, his eyes critically bent on the other's face.
"I am better."
"Glad to hear it. How's business?"
"Very good—that is, itwasgood. I haven't been near the Works for a week."
"So? Not—sick?"
"Oh, no; busy." There was the briefest of pauses; then, with disconcerting abruptness, came the question: "Where'd you get that girl, Gleason?"
"G-girl?" The doctor wanted a minute to think. Incidentally he was trying to swallow his heart—he thought it must be his heart—that big lump in his throat.
"Miss Darling."
"Miss Darling! Oh!" The doctor waved his hand inconsequently. He still wanted time. He was still swallowing at that lump. "Why, she—she—I told you. She's the daughter of an old friend. Why, isn't she all right?" He feigned the deepest concern.
"All right!"
Voice and manner carried a message of satisfaction that was unmistakable. But the doctor chose to ignore it. The doctor felt himself now on sure ground. He summoned a still deeper concern to his countenance.
"Why, Denby, you don't mean sheisn'tall right? What's the trouble? Isn't she capable?—or don't you like her ways?"
"But I mean sheisall right, man," retorted the other impatiently. "Why, Gleason, she's a wonder!"
Gleason, within whom the Hallelujah Chorus had become such a shout of triumph that he half expectedto see Burke Denby cover his ears, managed to utter a cool—
"Really? Well, I'm glad, I'm sure."
"Well, she is. She's no ordinary girl." ("If Helen could but hear that!" exulted the doctor to himself.) "Why, what do you think? She can actually tellmesome things about my own curios!"
"Then they are more than—er—potatoes to her? You know you said—"
"Yes, I know I did. But just hear this. In spite of her seeming intelligence and capability, I'd been dreading to open those cabinets and let her touch those things dad and I had spent so many dear years together gathering. But, of course, I knew that that was silly. One of my chief reasons for getting her was the cataloguing; and it was absurd not to set her at it. So one day, after everything else was done, I explained what I wanted, and told her to go ahead."
"Well, and—did she?" prompted the doctor, as the other paused.
"She did—exactlythat. She went ahead—'way ahead of what I'd told her to do. Why, when I got home, I was amazed to see what she'd done. But best of all was her interest and her enthusiasm, and the fact that she knew and appreciated what they were. You see that's one of the things I'd been dreading—her ignorance—her indifference; but I dreaded more that she might gush and say, 'Oh, how pretty!' And I knew if she did I'd—I'd want to knock her down."
"So glad—she didn't!" murmured the doctor.
His host laughed shamefacedly.
"Oh, yes, I know. That was rather a strong statement. But you see I felt strongly. And then to find— But, Gleason, she really is a wonder. We're working together now—I'mworking. As I said, I haven't been to the office for a week."
"Is she agreeable—personally?"
"Yes, very. She's pleasant and cheerful, bright, and very much of a lady. She's capable, and has uncommon good sense. Her voice, too, is excellent for reading. In short, she is, as I told you, a wonder; and I'm more than indebted to you for finding her. Let's see, you say you do know her family?"
Gleason got suddenly to his feet.
"Yes, oh, yes. Good family, too! Now I'm sorry to eat and run, as the children say, but I'll have to, Burke, to-night. One or two other little matters I'll have to attend to before I sleep. But, as I said a few minutes ago, I'm glad to see you in better spirits. Keep on with the good work."
The doctor seemed nervous, and anxious to get away; and in another minute the great outer door had closed behind him.
"Hm-m! Wonder what's his rush," puzzled Burke Denby, left standing in the hall.
There was a slight frown on his face. But in another minute it was gone: he had remembered suddenly that he had promised Miss Darling that he would try to find certain obscure data regarding thetablet they had been at work upon that afternoon. It was just as well, perhaps, after all, that the doctor had had to leave early—it would give more time for work.
With an eager lifting of his head Burke Denby turned and strode into the library.
Meanwhile, hurrying away from Denby House was the doctor, his whole self a Hallelujah Chorus of rejoicing. His countenance was still aglow with joy when, a little later, he rang the bell of a West Hill apartment-house suite bearing the name, "Mrs. Helen Darling."
To his joy he found Helen alone; but hardly had he given her a hasty account of his visit to Burke Denby, and assured her that he was positive everything was working out finely, when Betty came in from the corner grocery store, breezy and smiling.
"Oh, it's Dr. Gleason!" she welcomed him. "Now, I'm glad mother didn't go with me to-night, after all,—for we'd both been out then, and we shouldn't have seen you."
"Which would have been my great loss," bowed the man gallantly, his approving eyes on Betty's glowing face.
"Oh, but ours, too,—especially mine," she declared. "You see, I've been wishing you'd come. I wanted to thank you."
"To thank me?"
"Yes; for finding this lovely place for me."
"You like it, then?"
"I love it. Why, Dr. Gleason, you have no idea of the wonderful things that man— But you said you knew him," she broke off suddenly. "Don't you know him?"
"Oh, yes, very well."
"Then you've been there, of course."
"Many times."
"Oh, how silly of me!" she laughed. "As if I could tellyouanything about antiques and curios! But hasn't he some beautiful things?"
"He has, indeed. But how about the man? You haven't told me at all how you like Mr. Denby himself."
Betty glanced at her mother with a roguish shrug.
"Well, as I tell mother, now that I've got him trained, he does very well."
"Mydear!" murmured her mother.
"Trained?" The question was the doctor's.
"Yes. You see at first he was such a bear."
"Oh, Betty!" exclaimed her mother, in very genuine distress.
But Betty plainly was in one of her most mischievous moods. With another merry glance at her mother she turned to the doctor.
"It's only this, doctor. You see, at first he was so silent and solemn, and Benton and Sarah and Mrs. Gowing were so scared, and the whole house was so scared and silent and solemn, that it seemed some days as if I should scream, just to make a little excitement. But it's all very different now. Benton andSarah are all smiles, Mrs. Gowing actually laughs sometimes, and the only trouble is there isn't time enough for Mr. Denby to get in all the talking he wants to."
"Then Mr. Denby seems happier?"
"Oh, very much. Of course, at first it was just about the work—we're cataloguing the curios; but lately it's been in other ways. Why, the other day he found I could play and sing a little, and to-day he asked me to sing for him. And I did."
Helen sat suddenly erect in her chair.
"Sing? You sang for Mr. Denby?" she cried, plainly very much agitated. "But you hadn't told me—that!"
"I hadn't done it till this afternoon, just before I came home," laughed Betty.
"But what did you sing? Oh, you—you didn't sing any of those foolish, nonsensical songs, did you?" implored Helen, half rising from her chair.
"But I did," bridled Betty. Then, as her mother fell back dismayed, she cried: "Did you suppose I'd risk singing solemn things to a man who had just learned to laugh?"
"But,ragtime!" moaned Helen, "when he's always hated it so!"
"'Always hated it so'!" echoed Betty, with puzzled eyes. "Why, I hadn't played it before, dearie. I hadn't played anything!"
"No, no, I—I mean always hated everything gay and livelylikeragtime," corrected Helen, hercheeks abnormally pink, as she carefully avoided the doctor's eyes. "Why didn't you play some of your good music, dear?"
"Oh, I did, afterwards, of course,—MacDowell and Schubert, and that lullaby we love. But he liked the ragtime, too, all right. I know he did. Besides, it just did me good to liven up the old house a bit. I know Benton was listening in the hall, and I'm positive Sarah and the cook had the dining-room door open. As for Mrs. Gowing, she—dear old soul—just sat and frankly cried. And the merrier I sang, the faster the tears rolled down her face—but it was for joy. I could see that. And once I heard her mutter: 'To think that ever again I should hear music and laughter—here!' Dr. Gleason, did Mr. Denby ever love somebody once, and do I look like her?"
Taken utterly by surprise, the doctor, for one awful minute, floundered in appalled confusion. It was Helen this time who came to the rescue.
"I shall tell the doctor he needn't answer that question, Betty," she said, with just a shade of reproval in her voice. "If he did know of such a thing, do you think he ought to tell you, or anybody else?"
Betty laughed and colored a little.
"No, dear, of course not. And I shouldn't have asked it, should I?"
"But what makes you think he has?" queried the doctor, with very much the air of a small boy who is longing yet fearing to investigate the reason for the non-explosion of a firecracker.