But in the end, black doubt was driven away.
“Of course, my dear lady,” Manly said relievedly, patting her hand, “we cannot sprint at fifty-odd as we did at twenty. But a more leisurely gait is enjoyable and we can take time to look around at the pleasant things; do the things we’ve always wanted to do––but didn’t have time to do. Brace must get married––he’ll have children and you’ll begin all over with them. Then I’d like to take in some music with you this winter. I’ve rather let my pet fads drop from sheer loneliness. Let’s go to light opera––we’re all getting edgy over here. I tell you, Helen, it’s up to us older fry to steer the youngsters away from what does not concern them.”
Poor Manly! He could not deafen his conscience to the growing call from afar and already he saw the trend. So he talked the more as one does to keep his courage up in grave danger.
With his anxiety about Helen Northrup removed, Manly gave attention to Brace. Brace puzzled him. He acknowledged that Northrup had never looked better; the trip had done wonders for him. Yes; that was it––something rather wonderful had been done.
He attacked Northrup one day in his sledge-hammer style.
“What in thunder has got mixed up in your personality?” he asked.
“Oh! I suppose anxiety about Mother, Manly. And the thought that I had slipped from under my responsibilities. Had she died––well! it’s all right now.”
But this did not satisfy Manly.
“Hang it all, I don’t mean anxiety,” he blurted out. “The natural stuff I can estimate and label. But you look somehow as if you had been switched off the side track to the main line.”