Betty laughed again merrily.
"How mother would love to hear you say that!" she cried. "You see, mother was so afraid I would be—English, or something foreign—educated as I was almost entirely across the water. But we were with Americans all the time, and our teachers, except for languages, were Americans, whenever possible."
"Hm-m; I see. And now you are here in America again. And does your mother like it—here?"
"Why, I think so."
"And does she like Dalton, too? Perhaps she has been here before, though." The casual way in which the question was put gave no indication of the way the questioner was holding his breath for the answer.
"Oh, yes. She was here several years ago, she says."
"Indeed!" To Burke Denby it was as if something within him had suddenly snapped. He relaxed in his chair. His eyes were still covertly searching Betty's serene face bent over her work. Within himself he was saying: "Well, she doesn't know, whatever it is." Aloud he resumed: "And were you, too, ever here?"
"Why, yes; but I don't remember it. I was only a year or two old, mother said."
The man almost leaped from his chair. Then, sternly, he forced himself to work one full minute without speaking. A dozen agitated questions were clamoring for utterance, but he knew better than to give them voice. With a cheery casualness of manner, that made him inordinately proud of himself, he said:—
"Well, I certainly am glad you came now. I'm sure I don't know what I should have done, if you hadn't. But, by the way, how did you happen to come to me?" Again he held his breath.