"But, Susan, it breaks my heart," moaned the man, turning quite away.
"What if it does? Ain't his broke, too? Can't you think of him a little? Let me tell you this, Daniel Burton—that boy has more consolation for your feelin's than you have for his, every time. Didn't he jest come to me an' beg to eat with me, 'cause his dad didn't like to see disagreeable things, an'—"
The man wheeled sharply.
"Did Keith—do that?"
"He did, jest now, sir."
"All right, Susan. I—I don't think you'll have to say—any more."
And Susan, after a sharp glance into the man's half-averted face, said no more. A moment later she had left the room.
At dinner that day, with red eyes but a vivacious manner, she waited on a man who incessantly talked of nothing in particular, and a boy who sat white-faced and silent, eating almost nothing.