Gone! Gone without seeing her! Gone without waiting for an explanation! But what explanation was there to make? He had tried to talk the matter over with her and she had refused, refused because she was so afraid of being disloyal to her grandfather—afraid of having to admit that the old gentleman was in the wrong—afraid of having to admit that his mind was failing and he was obsessed by a strange dislike for a man to whom, in the past, he had been as devoted as though he had been of his own flesh and blood.

“Well, what now?” she asked herself. “What must I do?” She looked around the pretty room. There was little in it to remind her of Danny. It had been designed for a young girl’s room and had remained so. Those pretty pink hangings and pastel shaded rugs did not look very mannish. There was the high-boy, in the drawers of which he kept his belongings; there was the man’s wardrobe, that Grandpa Jim had given him on his birthday. She opened it and looked at his suits hanging in a neat row.

“He has taken his tweed and the blue serge,” she said, passing her hand over the row. “He left his dinner coat. I wonder if he won’t need it.” She pressed her cheek against the khaki uniform that hung there among the civilian clothes.

“Oh Danny! Danny! If you were only back!”

She closed the door of the wardrobe and turned, looking at the room again, the pretty pink room with all of its feminine touches.

“I never did realize how little this was really your home, Danny dear,” she said to his photograph which stood on her dressing table. “This was all the time just my room—this was all the time just Grandpa Jim’s house. It hasn’t been fair—it hasn’t been right! But what must I do now?” The question kept on dinging at her senses.

“Do!” she exclaimed as though she had received some kind of inspiration from the smiling boyish countenance on her dressing table. “Do! I must go on loving Grandpa Jim and I must protect Danny’s name and explain his sudden departure and never let anyone know what I am suffering. I must go about my business and keep up so I won’t be a sad, broken old woman when Danny comes home. I must wash my face and powder my nose and get ready for Dr. Coles. I must smile and pretend I knew all the time Danny was going and I wanted him to go because it will be such a good thing for him. I must write him a wonderful letter to San Francisco to speed him on his way. I must face the fact that Grandpa Jim is cra—, no not that awful word—but just a little peculiar. I must even forgive him for being so horribly cruel to my dear, dear boy. He didn’t know what he was doing. I must be brave! I must be worthy of Danny! I must be worthy of poor Grandpa Jim, who has been so wonderful all his life. Maybe Dr. Coles can cure him.”

The determination to be brave worked wonders for Mary Louise. She washed her face vigorously, trying to remove all traces of tears, but she felt like Lady Macbeth in the sleep walking scene when she cried, “Out damned spot!” and then later decided that all the perfumes of Arabia would not sweeten that little hand—only it was Mary Louise’s face that refused to be washed clean of tears. She did her best, however, and a little powder helped wonderfully to conceal the ravages of convulsive weeping. She changed her suit for a pretty soft dinner gown of old rose, one that Danny had especially liked and then she bravely stepped forth to take up the burden of facing life. She felt that she had never really faced life before, even when she had gone through such trials as a child and young girl. As she remembered them, she was thankful that having gone through with them had given her strength to bear what was placed on her shoulders now.

“Danny first! Danny first!” she said to herself as she went down the steps. “Nobody must think for an instant or intimate that he has left home because there is a cloud between us. I must take the stand that everything is all right and I approve of his going and it is all for the best.”

She went to the kitchen first, where Aunt Sally was grumbling and rumbling over her pots and pans. She overheard her saying to Eben, “Hi there, nigger! Come here an’ take this here dinner in befo’ it gits col’!”

“Well you come here an’ make room fer this here piece er ice in yo’ ’frigerator befo’ it gits hot,” was Eben’s retaliation. “You’m so dodblasted ’ticular ’bout yo’ ’frigerator you won’t let me han’le it.”

“No, I won’t let you han’le it! They’s too many li’l temptations in that there ’frigerator ter be a tu’nin’ you loose in it. They’s trouble enough in this here dommersile ’thout you a eatin’ up the li’l lef’-overs what I mought be a considerin’ er puttin’ in a pie or somethin’ er other.”

“Humph!” was all Eben deigned in reply.

“You mus’ ’scuse me, Eben, if I kinder light you up,” said Aunt Sally. “I’s turrible upset ’bout our white folks.”

“You needn’t be worried about me, Aunt Sally,” said Mary Louise, coming into the kitchen. She was trying to smile and it might have passed muster for a smile with anyone but Aunt Sally, but the old woman knew her young mistress too well not to realize that the smile was forced. “Mr. Danny has gone on a trip, just a business trip. It was too bad I was away from home but it is all right. He is well and he won’t be gone so very long. He had to catch a train to Chicago. You can just take his place from the table, Uncle Eben. And, Aunt Sally, I have asked Dr. Coles to come see Grandpa Jim this evening, but he is supposed just to be calling on the family so when he comes, whoever answers the bell, just bring him into the living room as though he were plain company, not a doctor. You understand, don’t you?”

“Sho’ we understands, honey chil’. Is you ’lowin’ Mr. Danny will be home fer breakfus?”

“No, not for some time. I’ll let you know in plenty of time to set the table for him.” Mary Louise then went to find her grandfather.

“Gawd in heaven! She ain’t doin’ nothin’ but play-actin’ but the chil’s heart air breakin’. Eben, she had a smile on her face lak folks have what air gazin’ on their daid, that kinder smile what makes you know they air a tryin’ ter let the one what air jes’ gone know that they’s a gonter take up the burden er life an’ bear it the bes’ they kin. I tell you one thing, nigger, I’m a gonter play-act too an’ th’ain’t nobody gonter git nothin’ out’n me but what Miss Mary Louise wants them ter git. Mr. Danny’s been called away sudden lak on a business trip an’ we ain’t quite sho jes’ when he’ll be back but Marse Jim ain’t said nothin’ ter him as we knows about an’ the fambly goose air a hangin’ high. If us Hathaways ain’t a gonter hol’ up our haids an’ keep a smilin’ I’d lak ter know who air a gonter keep up the fambly name.”

“You done said a plenty!” agreed Uncle Eben. “Us black folks ain’t gonter be weighed in the balance an’ foun’ wantin’.”

“Ain’t it the truf?”

“Sally, you air a good ooman!”

“An’ you air a good man, Eben—that is as fer as nigger men goes,” she added, but Eben looked lovingly at his spouse, thankful for her scanty words of praise and not at all minding the string tied to his compliment.

Mary Louise found her grandfather hovering over the fire in the living room. She went up and kissed him affectionately and then seated herself on a low stool at his feet. The old man put his hand lovingly on the bowed head.

“I have been reinvesting some funds for you today, my child,” he said gently. “I sold all of the real estate bonds I have bought in the last years and am putting the bulk of the money into some gold mines. I am going to put every cent I can call in on these mines.”

“I know you are doing wisely, Grandpa Jim, because you have such fine judgment. I am a perfect little goose about business. I don’t see why you don’t teach me something about investments and things. I simply don’t understand a thing.”

“You are right, child, I should teach you. I know I can’t live forever but I want to fix it so that rascally husband of yours can’t find a cent.”

Mary Louise’s neck stiffened and her head was held high. She turned and looked at her grandfather, her face flushed and her eyes flashing.

“Grandpa Jim, I love you dearly, but I ask you to realize that Danny is my husband, the man I love above all others and I cannot sit here and listen to his being reviled.”

Colonel Hathaway looked a bit dazed and then smiled in the eyes of his granddaughter.

“All right, honey, I reckon you are right. Of course, I know how you feel about the wretch. You told me yourself you despised him—but then women are women.”

“I told you I despised him! Grandpa Jim, what can you mean?”

“I was under the impression you had told me that. Didn’t you come to my room in the night and sit on my bedside in your pretty pink wrapper and hold my hand and tell me Danny abused you terribly?”

“Grandpa! Never! You must have had a dream!”

“Well! Well! Too bad! I thought you did. Perhaps I should not have told him you complained of him then. Of course, I know you would complain of him if you were not such a lady. He is so ugly and so untidy.”

“Danny ugly and untidy! Why Grandpa Jim, he is the pink of neatness and everybody thinks he is the best looking young man in Dorfield.”

“Tut! Tut! Let’s say no more about it.”

“Dinner am served!” announced Uncle Eben, sticking his woolly pate in at the door.

Mary Louise helped her grandfather to his feet and gently led him to the dining room. He leaned on her heavily. Tenderly she placed him in his chair. She understood now, without the help of Dr. Coles, that her grandfather was really failing. What would she not give to have acknowledged it sooner! Well life must be faced and, because she had made one big mistake, there was no reason for going on slumping. She smiled bravely as she explained to Colonel Hathaway that Danny had gone on a business trip and pretended not to hear him when he muttered, “Good riddance of bad rubbish!—bad rubbish!”

Dr. Coles came to call soon after dinner. Colonel Hathaway received him with his usual graciousness. The old gentleman was never more charming than on that evening. He conversed delightfully with his guest, recalling anecdote after anecdote of the past. He showed a remarkable memory for dates and events going into minute detail several times, remembering the time of day, the day of the week, the day of the month and the year of some happening. He never seemed saner to Mary Louise than on that evening. Dr. Coles listened to his stories with interest, speaking but little himself and encouraging his unknowing patient to do the talking. From stories of the past Colonel Hathaway suddenly switched to the present and then plunged into a confused account of the recent investments he had made in a gold mine.

“I have to make more and more money to take care of my poor child here. Her husband is absolutely a dead beat, you know,” he remarked quite casually.

Mary Louise blushed furiously and was on the point of saying something to try to set her poor Danny right in the eyes of their visitor, but Dr. Coles motioned to her to be quiet.

“He is gone now, gone for good I hope, but poor little Mary Louise pretends it is only a business trip. I can see she is concealing something from me and, no doubt, he has taken all her jewels with him or the family silver. He is a wretched person, I can assure you, Dr. Coles. I was never so fooled by anybody in my life. Mary Louise and I were both fooled, but, thank God, at last our eyes are opened to his perfidy!”

Dr. Coles knew and liked Danny immensely, but he said nothing in his defense, only watched his patient the more keenly.

“I am sorry to hear that. What has he done?” “Well he—he—I can’t recall now just what it is—it is something very bad, though, you may be sure.” The old gentleman smiled pleasantly, totally unconscious of the fact that he was wringing the heart strings of the creature he loved better than his life.

“I see,” said the doctor thoughtfully. “I must be going now.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have you go. I am going to come to your office soon to have you look me over, not that I am ill—never better in my life,” he added hastily, “but I have a funny way of going to sleep in spots here lately. No doubt it is indigestion, and perhaps I must let up on Aunt Sally’s good food.”

“No doubt! No doubt! Anyhow, come let me look you over.”

Mary Louise followed Dr. Coles to the front door.

“What do you think?” she asked anxiously.

“There is no doubt that his mind is failing rapidly.”

“But see how sanely he talked about the past!”

“That is often the case. Old persons seem to be able to remember the most remarkable things that happened in their youth and still the present is often blurred. You noticed he could not even remember what fancied grievance he had against your husband. He was sure there was something, but he could not remember just what it was. It is common in such cases for the person to take a strange unreasoning dislike to some one, often the very person of whom he has been most fond. I am glad it is your husband and not you he has turned against.”

“Oh! Oh!” was all poor Mary Louise could trust herself to say.

“I am also glad your husband has gone on a business trip. His presence might irritate Colonel Hathaway. This may be only a phase and he may get over all his feeling against Mr. Dexter. I am sure I hope it will be so. In the meantime, if I were you, I should see that he is kept quiet but amused; make him eat simple nourishing food; have plenty of air but do not let him take too much exercise.”

“Is there—is there danger of—of—his—his dying?” she faltered.

“My dear young lady, no man can say. In a case like this, sometimes the patient lives for years, getting stronger and stronger in the body as the mind weakens. Your grandfather may get entirely well and live to remember this obsession merely as one remembers a bad dream. Have him come see me at my office soon and call on me at a moment’s notice if you are the least bit alarmed.”