"Why, y-yes."
"Well, I'm going to send Betty."
"Betty!"
"Certainly. She can fill the position—you needn't worry about that. She's eighteen, you know, and she's really very self-reliant and capable. She doesn't understand shorthand, of course; but she can write his letters for him, just the same, and in three or four languages, if he wants her to. She can typewrite. Mr. Reynolds got a typewriter for the girls long ago. And she loves to fuss over old books and curios. She and Gladys have spent days in those old London shops."
"A real Denby digger—eh?" smiled the doctor.
"Yes. And I've been so glad she was interested—like her father."
"But you don't mean you're going to give your daughter up," cried Mrs. Thayer, aghast, "and not go yourself!"
"You couldn't! Besides, as if Burke would stand for that," cut in the doctor.
"But he isn't going to know she is his daughter," smiled Helen.
"Not know she is his daughter!" echoed two voices, in stupefaction.