But she was to blame, of course, in a way. If it had not been for her, he would be living at home with all the money he wanted. Sometimes it came to her with sickening force that maybe Burke was thinking that, too. Was he? Could it be that he was sorry he had married her? Very well—her chin came up proudly. He need not stay if he did not want to. He could go. But—the chin was not so high, now—he was all there was. She had nobody but Burke now. Could it be—
She believed she would ask Dr. Gleason some time. She liked the doctor. He had been there several times now, and she felt real well acquainted with him. Perhaps he would know. But, after all, she was not going to worry. She did not believe that really Burke wished he had not married her. It was only that he was tired and fretted with his work. It would be better by and by, when he had got ahead a little. And of course he would get ahead. They would not always have to live like this!
It was in March that Burke came home to dinner one evening with a radiant face, yet with an air of worried excitement.
"It's dad. He's sent for me," he explained, in answer to his wife's questions.
"Sent for you!"
"Yes. He isn't very well, Brett says. He wants to see me."
"Humph! After all this time! I wouldn't go a step if I was you."
"Helen! Not go to my father?"
Helen quaked a little under the fire in her husband's eyes; but she held her ground.