“Now you see, Rodney,” she cried triumphantly, “it is all right! Here is word from Betty herself—oh, my darling!” and she fell to kissing the yellow paper, as if it were the face of her child.
“But, Mrs Varian,” Granniss hesitated to correct her but felt he must, “that may not be from Betty, you know. Anybody could send a telegram signed with Betty’s name.”
“Rodney!” Minna’s eyes blazed with anger, “why do you try every way to make me miserable? Why dash every cup of joy from my lips? You seem to hope that we never find Betty! I can’t understand your attitude, but unless you are more helpful,—yes, and more hopeful,—I don’t think we can get along together.”
But Granniss knew that he must stand by this distracted woman. Another secretary might have more leniency and less judgment, which would be a bad thing for Minna’s interests. No, even at risk of letting her be imprudent, he must stand by her, and protect her all he could against her own wrong decisions.
“Oh, yes, we’ll get along all right, Mrs Varian,” he said, trying to treat the matter lightly. “You can’t get rid of me so easily,—and, too, you know that I want to believe all this quite as much as you do. But you must admit that a telegram is not like a letter. It might be faked.”
“Well, this isn’t,” said Minna, contentedly, still caressing the paper missive.
“Let’s consider it,” said Rod. “It doesn’t sound to me like Betty’s diction. Would she use the word ‘implicitly’?”
“Why not?” Minna stared at him. “And, too, she wrote it under compulsion, most likely. Oh, my darling child,—at the mercy of those ruffians! Yet, I make no doubt they’re good to her. Why should they harm my baby? They only want the ransom money, and that they shall have. I’m glad it’s a large sum, it makes me more sure I’ll get Betty.”
Granniss was in despair. He felt the awful responsibility of Mrs Varian’s wild determination, but he couldn’t see anything to do about it.
To report to Doctor Varian was not his duty, and though he thought it was his duty to tell the story to the police, Minna had exacted his promise not to do so, and he had given it. After all, it was her money,—if she chose to give it up so easily, it was not his affair. And, too, he couldn’t help a lurking hope that it might be all true and might result in Betty’s restoration to her sorrowing mother,—and, to himself. For he knew, now that the opposing influence of her father was removed, if Betty should ever be found, she would some day be his wife. He trusted in her faith and loyalty to himself as he believed in his own to her.