“Nothing, except that Miss Mona left a note on her father’s desk, and I thought maybe it might be to tell him she had gone.”
Big Bill strode over to the desk, and there, under a paperweight, lay a note, addressed to Mr. Galbraith. He picked it up, and looked at it, thoughtfully.
“Patty,” he said, “this isn’t sealed. Considering all things, I think it is our duty to read it, but you know more about such matters than I do. What do you think?”
Patty hesitated. She had always thought it little less than a crime to read a note addressed to another, but the circumstances made this case seem an exception. “We might telephone to Mr. Galbraith and ask his permission,” she suggested.
But Big Bill seemed suddenly to have made up his mind.
“No!” he declared, “I’ll take the responsibility of this thing. To telephone would frighten Mr. Galbraith, and would delay matters too much, beside. I shall read this note, and if I can’t square my action with Mr. Galbraith afterward, I’ll accept the consequences.”
The impressive manner of the big man, his stern, set face, and honest, determined blue eyes convinced Patty that he was right, and together they read the note.
In it, as they had feared, Mona told her father that she was going away to marry Mr. Lansing, because her father would not allow her to marry him otherwise. She expressed regret at the sorrow she knew this would bring to her father, but she said she was old enough to decide for herself whom she wished to marry, and she felt sure that after it was over he would forgive her, and call his two children back to him.
“Mona never wrote that note of her own accord,” exclaimed Patty, indignantly. “That man made her do it!”
“Of course he did!” agreed Bill, in a stern voice. “I know Lansing,—and, Patty, the man is a scoundrel.”