“Janet, my dear—” he began.
Dorothy ran to her uncle and throwing her arms about his neck, buried her head on his shoulder. “How could you leave me like this?” she wailed. “Why do you let these people keep me locked in my room? And now they are going to take me away!” Her voice grew louder, almost hysterical. She sobbed pathetically and clutched him a little tighter.
“My dear child—you mustn’t cry this way—you really mustn’t!” Mr. Jordan patted her back in the silly way men do when they want to be comforting. “Mr. Lawson and his wife will look after you in the country, while your Daddy is away.”
She released the embarrassed man, and pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbed her eyes with the cambric until she felt certain they looked bloodshot enough to pass inspection. “But I don’t want to go, Daddy. Please don’t let them take me,” she begged, her voice trembling as though she was using all her will power to gain self control. “If you can’t take me with you, why can’t I go back to school?”
“But that’s impossible, Janet. You are going to be Mrs. Lawson’s secretary. Don’t be foolish. All arrangements have been made.”
“Well, I’m eighteen,” said Dorothy with a show of temper. “My mother was a year younger than that when she ran away and married you. I am no longer a child. I don’t like being packed off like—like a bag of potatoes.”
“Are there any other reasons why you don’t want to come to Ridgefield with me?” Mr. Lawson spoke for the first time. His words fairly dripped with suspicion.
“Yes, there are.” Dorothy turned on him angrily. “Daddy goes off on a trip, and for reasons which appear to be a secret, you keep me locked in my room for more than a week, Mr. Lawson. And you seem to wonder why I resent it.”
“But you have been ill, my dear Janet.”
“If I’m so ill, why has no doctor been to see me?” Her voice was full of scorn.