For the present, then, he would stay where he was. Helen would be all right—with Bridget. His father would be overjoyed, he knew; and as for the few toilet necessities—he could buy those. He needed some new things to take away. So that was settled.
With a mind at rest again and a heart aflame with joy, Burke hurried into his garments and skipped downstairs like a boy.
His face, before his lips got a chance, told his father of his decision. But his lips did not lag long behind. He had expected that his father would be pleased; but he was not quite prepared for the depth of emotion that shook his father's voice and dimmed his father's eyes, and that ended the half-uttered declaration of joy with what was very near a sob. If anything, indeed, were needed to convince Burke that he was doing just right in taking this trip with his father, it could be needed no longer after the look of ineffable peace and joy on that father's face.
Breakfast, with so much to talk of, prolonged itself like a college spread, until Burke, with a cry of dismay, pulled out his watch and leaped to his feet.
"Jove! Do you know what time it is, dad?" he cried laughingly. "Behold how this life of luxury has me already in its clutches! I should have been off an hour ago."
John Denby lifted a detaining hand.
"Not so fast, my boy," he smiled. "I've got you, and I mean to keep you—a few minutes longer."
"But—"
"Oh, I telephoned Brett this morning that you wouldn't be down till late, if you came at all."
"You telephoned this morning!" puzzled Burke, sinking slowly into his chair again. "But you didn't know then that I—" He stopped once more.