But he got no further in his speech. Old Aaron Rockharrt raised his hand and stopped him right there, and then said:
"Not one word from any one of you to me or in my presence on this event, either now or ever. It happened in the course of nature. Drop the subject. Fabian, how are matters going on at the works?"
"I do not know, sir," replied Mr. Fabian, speaking for the first and last and only time, abruptly and indiscreetly to his despotic father.
But the Iron King took no notice of the words, nor did he repeat the question. He drank one cup of coffee, ate half a roll, and then arose and left the table, without a word. He did not return to his dead wife's chamber, which he probably knew would now have to be given up to dressers of the dead and to the undertakers.
He went and locked himself in the library, and was seen no more that day.
Cora, with her woman's intuition, understood the accession of hardness that was worn as a mask to conceal grief and remorse.
"Be patient with him, Uncle Fabian. He is your father, after all. And he suffers! Oh, he suffers! Yes; much more than any of us do," she said.
"Do you think so, Cora?" inquired Mr. Fabian, looking at her in surprise.
"I know he does," she answered.
"Well, he has good reason to!" concluded Mr. Fabian. Then, after a pause, he added: "But I am sorry I spoke roughly to my father! I will make it up to him, or try to do so, by extra deference."