Mr. Bartlett, returning from his mother's bedside, went hurriedly through his grounds, and on upstairs to his own room. There, waiting for him, was Graham. The boy knew at once the truth.
"Father," he cried, and put his arms about the tall figure.
They stood so, the man finding comfort in the contact of his boy. And so Mrs. Bartlett, returned temporarily from a journey, found them.
She started back at sight of them thus together. They seemed in their new intimacy to have shut her out, quite out of their lives. "I've been looking for you, Graham," she began, and then caught her breath sharply at the look the boy gave her; not a premeditated cold look, only one that he might bestow upon a stranger.
"Father has just come home," he said; "grandmother—"
But he did not finish. He saw that his mother understood that Drusilla had gone away. Mr. Bartlett spoke to his wife. "I heard this morning that you had returned to stay for a day. I'm afraid the tents and the children will still disfigure our grounds for some time."
His bitterness made her wince. But she answered calmly. "Yes, I returned while you were absent."
"For a day, as I was told?"
"My plans must change now of necessity—my trip to Italy—"
"Why?" he asked. "Nothing that has happened need interfere with any of your plans, your mode of living. My mother would not wish that."