"I was always away at school after his marriage," she went on. "I saw so little of him."
Mrs. Carder looked uneasy.
"I saw nothin' of him except at a meal sometimes. He and my son was always shut up in Rufus's office."
"Did he seem—seem unhappy, Mrs. Carder?"
"Well—yes. He was a sort of an absent-minded man. Perhaps that was his way. Really, I don't know a thing about their business, Miss Melody." The addition was made in sudden panic because the girl had grasped both the wrinkled hands and was gazing searchingly into the old woman's face as if she would wring information out of her.
"You wouldn't tell me if you did," said Geraldine in a low voice. "You are afraid of your son. I saw it in your eyes downstairs. Had my father reason to be afraid of him? Tell me that. That is what I want to know."
"Your father is dead. What difference does it make?" asked the old woman, looking from side to side as if for a means of escape from the strong young hands and eyes.
"Yes, poor Daddy. Well, I have come to help you, Mrs. Carder." The speaker released the wrinkled hands and the old woman rose in relief. "I have come to work for you, not for your son, and I am not going to be afraid of him."
The mother shook her head.
"We all work for him, my dear. He holds the purse-strings."