"I didn't see what you were driving at. She told me that. The girl's an idiot. I said it was absurd, and she was as obstinate as a mule. Of course her father's papers are hers now, and she ought to read them."
"I should have said that she ought. There might be something that he would wish done. But she has a feeling of delicacy. Perhaps that feeling might be more frequent—with advantage—as to those who are gone."
"I don't know what you mean. I know what Pattie means. Feeling of delicacy, indeed! Stuff and nonsense! Pattie knows that her father was a scamp, and she doesn't want to make it known, that's all."
"My dear! Do you know what you are saying? What reason can you have for such a notion?"
"I know! There's a lot too much mystery. People don't go hiding up things when there's nothing to hide. I believe he was a downright bad man. And I believe Pattie knows it too. That's why she won't tell us about him, and why she pretends she doesn't want to read his papers. It's because she knows things will come out, and she doesn't want to have to tell."
Cragg was silent. That some mystery existed, that some shade lay over Dale's past, he could not deny. But he thought of Dale's dying words—"Remember! I did not do it. In the sight of God I say that. It was not me. I didn't do it."
"My dear, you are mistaken. Dale may have been unfortunate. He was not to blame, I am sure."
"And I'm sure just the other way, Mr. Cragg. Some day you'll find out that I am right."
Cragg remained lost in thought. Then he stood up slowly, as if disliking further argument, and made his way from the room. Mrs. Cragg watched impatiently for his going out, and she had to wait nearly half an hour.
At last the coast was clear.