"It would relieve the mind of the safe confidant more," her husband replied, astutely. "Margaret is all right! You know what Seneca says: 'If you wish another to keep your secret, first keep it yourself.'"
"I wish you wouldn't always be quoting those old heathen philosophers to me," said Mrs. Kirtley, with growing irritation. She had fully expected to hear the whole story when her husband came home. She was not quite sure now that he had told all he knew.
The Judge chuckled. "My dear, if I had said Solomon instead of Seneca, I have no doubt you would have thought that you could find that in the Book of Proverbs. It is sage enough to be there. Another proverb is doubtless in Margaret's mind—the substance of it, at any rate, and I will relieve your perturbation by saying that this is accredited to the Talmud, and may have more weight with you than that of my good pagan. This certainly is worthy of the Wise Man:
'Thy friend hath a friend, and thy friend's friend hath a friend; so be discreet!'"
"Margaret certainly knows that she can trust us," returned his wife, indignantly.
"'Could'," my dear, is the better word. Can implies a possibility of her trying, and that, I suspect, she is not going to do for the present. Let her alone. She is all right."
But under his light words he had a sore heart. The girl was very dear to him. She was in trouble, and he could not help her. He contented himself with looking closely after her business interests—his friendship being of the rare kind which is willing to give much, looking not for a return—and with dropping in often to see her and the baby.
"I am going to call him Philip Varnum," she said to him on one of these occasions. "You must help me to make him worthy of the name." It was all she said, but he understood without anything more that she expected to rear the child without the help of his father.
Of Richard De Jarnette Margaret saw less and less as time went on. There was a feeling of constraint between them, natural enough, perhaps, under the circumstances, and for some reason growing. During those first weeks after her illness he had come often to the house,—had shown her unobtrusive kindnesses and done thoughtful things that added to her comfort, always in a self-effacing way, evading thanks whenever possible. Sometimes she only heard of them through Mammy Cely. At rare intervals he even held the boy when the old nurse, who stood in awe of no man and least of all of this one who had been her foster child, had put it into his arms. He did it very awkwardly, 'tis true, and in a fashion that gave Margaret nervous chills of fright lest he should drop him, or do some other dreadful thing, but manfully, as one who has a duty to perform and does it—with set teeth.
One day when Mammy Cely had taken the child away he asked, abruptly, "You find her useful to you?"