“Thank you. And I may tell her I have your consent?”
Barnes smiled grimly.
“If you wish.”
Langdon gripped his hand once more. Barnes turned abruptly.
“You’ll excuse me? I’m going in now. Good-night.”
Barnes closed the little Dutch door behind him. And instead of soaring, winged, to the top of the stairs, he plodded up as though he were carrying a great weight upon his shoulders.
CHAPTER XV
PLAYING THE GAME
Barnes had said to Aunt Philomela when she demurred at certain things running counter to her own convictions, “Now that we have begun this game, we must play it for all it’s worth. We must stick it out to the end.”
Lying there in his room on the little white bed, Barnes repeated that again to himself. It meant just one thing; that in all fairness, he must now play the brother in this household as well as the prodigal. He had been admitted within these sacred precincts not as a friend, but as an actor. Honor demanded that he must not presume further than this. That was as clear as a June morning. To take advantage of his position for any personal consideration would be to turn traitor to the old gentleman, to Aunt Philomela, to the girl herself.
Well and good. There was no sense in arguing further along this line. As a gentleman it did not behoove him to discuss it even with himself. Looking then at Langdon’s suit impersonally, as a brother, how must he consider it? Dr. Merriweather was a sufficient voucher for the man’s social standing. What of the man himself? He had seen enough of him to realize that he was clean-limbed, clean-hearted. He had also had a glimpse into the man’s soul and had found there a brother artist.