Part 27 (1/2)
With the letter in his hand, Burke went to his father.
”Gleason's coming Friday,” he announced tersely.
”Well?”
”We've got to settle on what to tell him.”
”About--”
”Helen--yes. Of course--he'll have to know something; but--I shall tell him mighty little.” Burke's lips snapped together in the grim manner that was becoming habitual with him.
Gleason came on Friday. There was an odd constraint in his manner. At the same time there was a nervous wistfulness that was almost an appeal.
Yet he was making, obviously, a great effort to appear as usual.
Not until Burke found himself alone with his guest did he speak of his wife. Then he said:--
”You know, of course, that Helen has--er--that she is not here.”
”Yes.” There was a subdued excitement in the doctor's voice.
”Of course! Everybody knows that, I suppose,” retorted Burke bitterly.
He hesitated, then went on, with manifest effort: ”If you don't mind, old fellow, we'll leave it--right there. There's really nothing that I care to say.”
A look of keen disappointment crossed the doctor's face.
”But, Burke, if you knew that your wife--” began the doctor imploringly.
”There are no 'ifs' about it,” interrupted Burke, with stern implacability. ”Helen knows very well where I am, and--she isn't here.
That's enough for me.”
”But, my dear boy--” pleaded the doctor again.
”Gleason, please, I'd rather not talk about it,” interrupted Burke Denby decidedly. And the doctor, in the face of the stern uncompromisingness of the man before him, and of his own solemn, but hard-wrung promise, given to a no less uncompromising little woman whom he had left only the day before, was forced to drop the matter. His face, however, still carried its look of troubled disappointment. And he steadfastly refused to remain at the house even for a meal--a most extraordinary proceeding for him.
”He's angry, and he's angry with me,” muttered Burke Denby to himself, his eyes moodily fixed on the doctor's hurrying figure as it disappeared down the street. ”He wanted to preach and plead, and tell me my 'duty.'
As if I didn't know my own business best myself! Bah! A fig for his 'ifs' and 'buts'!”
CHAPTER XIII
A WOMAN'S WON'T
Two days after his visit to Dalton, Frank Gleason dropped himself into a low chair in his sister's private sitting-room in the Beacon Hill house.
”Well?” prompted Mrs. Thayer, voice and manner impatiently eager.
”Nothing.”
”Nothing! But there must have been something!”