The word struck Elizabeth; her gray eyes began to fill.
"How much, Dick?" she asked gently.
"Five--a--"
"More?"
He nodded
"How much more?"
"Twice as much."
"Ten, then?"
He said nothing; he ceased sobbing. Then suddenly he looked up and met her glance.
"Bess," he said, "it's twenty-three thousand!"
She stared at him until her tears had dried. In the silence she could hear her little watch ticking away on the dressing-table. The lights in the room blazed with a fierce glare.
"Does Mr. Hunter know?"
"Yes."
"When did he find out?"
"This morning. He called me in this afternoon."
"Does any one else know?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
Dick hung his head and began to fumble his watch-chain.
"Who, Dick?"
"One other man."
"Who? Tell me."
"Eades."
She closed her eyes and leaned back; she dropped her arms to her sides and clutched her chair for support. For a long while they did not speak. It was Dick at last who spoke. He seemed to have regained his faculties and his command.
"Bess," he said, "Eades will have no mercy on me. You know that."
She admitted it with a slow nod of her head, her eyes still closed.
"Something must be done. Father--he must be told. Will--will you tell him?"
She sat a moment--it seemed a long moment--without moving, without opening her eyes; and Dick sat there and watched her. Some of the color had come to his face. His eyes were contracting; his face was lined with new scheming.
"Will you tell him, Bess?"
She moved, opened her eyes slowly, wearily, and sighed:
"Yes."
She got up.
"You're not going to tell him now?"
He stretched out a hand as if to detain her.
"Yes, now. Why not?" She rose with difficulty, paused, swayed a little and then went toward the door. Dick watched her without a word. His hand was in the pocket of his coat. He drew out a cigarette.
She went down the stairs holding the baluster tightly; her palm, moist from her nervousness, squeaked on the rail as she slid it along. She paused in the library door. Her father was lounging in his chair under the reading-lamp, his legs stretched toward the fire. She could just see the top of his head over the chair, the light falling on his gray hair.
"That you, Betsy?"
The cheer and warmth of his tone smote her; again her eyes closed in pain.
"Yes, it's I," she said, trying for a natural tone, and succeeding, at least, in putting into her voice a great love--and a great pity. She bent over the back of the chair, and laid her hands on his head, gazing into the fire. The touch of her hands sent a delicious thrill through Ward; he did not move or speak, wishing to prolong the sensation.
"Dear," she said, "I have something to tell you."
The delicious sensation left him instantly.
"Can you bear some bad news--some bad, bad news?"
His heart sank. He had expected something like this--the day would come, he knew, when she would leave him. But was it not unusual?
Should not Eades have spoken--should not he have asked him first? Her arms were stealing about his neck.
"Some bad news--some evil news. Something very--"
She had slipped around beside him and leaned over as if to protect him from the blow she was about to deliver. Her voice suddenly grew unnatural, tragic, sending a shudder through him as she finished her sentence with the one word:
"Horrible!"
"What is it?" he whispered.
"Be strong, dear, and brave; it's going to hurt you."
"Tell me, Bess," he said, sitting up now, his man's armor on.