"Just muddle him. Nancy would be the same girl, but he'd get to puzzling over her and tagging ideas on her—and to what end, Doris? The girl has the right to her own path and you have, by the grace of God, pushed obstacles from before her, in heaven's name give her fair play and don't—flax out at this stage of the game."
"But, Davey, if in the future anything should disclose the truth, might Ken not resent?"
"I don't see why he should. When the hour struck you could call him into the family circle and share the news. By that time he'd feel secure in his own right about Nancy."
"I'm not afraid of, or for, Joan, Davey." Doris lifted her head proudly. "And, David, I want to tell you now that my coming to The Gap was more on the children's account than my own. I have always felt that here, if anywhere, the truth might be exposed. At first I was anxious; fearful yet hopeful. I know now that The Gap has no suspicions, and I am more and more confident that George Thornton has passed from our lives."
"Very good!" Martin sat up and bent forward in order to take Doris's hands in his own.
"My dear," he said, gently, "have you never thought that—Nancy is—your own?"
"Yes, Davey, I have grown to believe it. She is very like Meredith—not in looks, but in her character and habits. She is stronger, happier than Merry, and oh! Davey, for that very reason I hesitate to touch the beautiful faith and love of the child. I do not want her disillusioned. It would kill her as it did Merry."
"Then, again I caution against risks, especially when the odds are with Nancy, not against her."
The fire burned low—a mere twinkle in the white ashes, then David asked as one does ask a useless question:
"Are those words over the fireplace, Doris?" He puckered his near-sighted eyes.