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!"

"There wasn't a thing--that will help."

"But, aren't they frightened--anxious--anything? Don't they _care_ where she is?"

"Oh, yes; they care very much," smiled the doctor wearily; "but not in the way that is going to help any. I couldn't get _anything_ out of Burke, and I didn't get much more out of his father. But I did a little."

"They don't know, of course, that she's here?"

"Heavens, I hope not!--under the circ.u.mstances. But I felt all kinds of a knave and a fool and a traitor. I got away as soon as possible. I couldn't stay. I hoped to get something--anything--that I could use for a cudgel over Helen, to get her to go back, you know. But I couldn't get a thing. However, I shall keep on urging, of course."

"But what _did_ they say?"

"Burke said nothing, practically. Nor would he let me say anything. He is very angry (his father told me that), and very bitter."

"But isn't he frightened, or worried?"

"Not according to his father. It seems they have had a detective on the case, and have traced her to Boston. There the trail ends. But they have found out enough to feel satisfied that no evil has befallen her. Burke argues that Helen is staying somewhere (with friends, he believes) because she wants to. Such being the case he doesn't want her back until she gets good and ready to come. He does want the baby. John Denby told me, in fact, that he believed if Burke found them now, as he's feeling, he'd insist on a separation; and that the baby should be given to him."

"Given to him, indeed!" flashed Mrs. Thayer angrily. "And yet, in the face of that, you sit there and say you shall urge her to go back, of course."

Frank Gleason stirred uneasily.

"I know, Edith, but--"

"There isn't any question about it," interrupted Mrs. Thayer decidedly.

"That poor child stays where she is now."

"Oh, but, Edith, this sort of thing can't go on forever, you know,"

remonstrated the doctor nervously, his forehead drawn into an anxious frown.

"I wasn't talking about forever," returned the lady, with tranquil confidence. "I was talking about _now_, to-day, next week, next year, if it's necessary."

"_Next year!_"

"Certainly--if Burke Denby hasn't come to his senses by that time. Why, Frank Gleason, don't you suppose I'd do anything, _everything_, to help that child keep her baby? She worships it. Besides, it's going to be the making of her."

"I know; but if they could be brought together--Burke and his wife, I mean--it seems as if--as if--" The man came to a helpless pause.

"Frank, see here," began Edith Thayer resolutely. "You know as well as I do that those two people have been wretched together for a year or more.

They are not suited to each other. They weren't in the first place. To make matters worse, they were both nothing but petted, spoiled children, no more fit to take on the responsibilities of marriage than my Bess and Charlie would be. All their lives they'd had their own dolls and shotguns to do as they pleased with; and when it came to marrying and sharing everything, including their time and their tempers, they flew into bits--both of them."

"Yes, I know," sighed the man, still with a troubled frown.

"Well, they're apart now. Never mind who was to blame for it, or whether it was or wasn't a wise move. It's done. They're apart. They've got a chance to think things over--to stand back and get a perspective, as it were. Helen thinks she can metamorphose herself into the perfect wife that Burke will love. Perhaps she can. Let us say she has one chance in a million of doing so;--well, I mean she shall have that chance, especially as the alternative--that is, her going back home now--is sure to be nothing but utter wretchedness all round."

Frank Gleason shook his head.