"No motor, Phil," came from the sobbing woman. "I can't imagine living without a motor."
"Indeed you can. You're going to show Mr. Fabian what a good sport he married; and we're all going to cheer him up and make him forget his nightmare before fall. You have everything that's real left—unless Mr. Fabian breaks down under this strain," added Phil artfully.
He had struck the right note. Mrs. Fabian lifted her head and wiped her eyes wildly. "I'm going with Edgar," she cried. "Henry may be ill. I shall go."
"No, dear mother," said Kathleen, gently taking her hand. "Let Edgar manage this alone. He will wire us at once."
It was nearly time for the boat and Edgar came out of the house with his bag. All his machinations of the morning had not succeeded in bringing to Violet's eyes the expression that grew there when she saw him ready to start on his hard journey. Speechless and unsmiling he pressed her hand, then kissed his mother and listened to her exhortations. Mr. Tremaine was ready, and together they started toward the wharf.
Philip was going to accompany them, but his aunt clung to him.
"Stay with us, Phil," she begged. "You are my son, too."
Mr. Fabian, heavy-lidded from a sleepless night, was working at the desk in his private office, when the door opened and closed quietly and quickly, and he looked up to see Edgar standing beside him. An added cloud passed over his face.
The young man saw it and he paid for many a misdemeanor in the pang it gave him.