“Well,” replied Jack quietly, for he had heard bits of conversation on the bus that day, and they gave him an advance inkling of Desiré’s trouble, “don’t say anything to her, or let her know that you notice anything. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
“I didn’t, Jack. I just helped all I could, and stayed where she could call me.”
“That’s a good girl; you’re getting to be a great help to us,” tightening his grasp on her brown, plump little hand.
Fortunately René had a silly fit at the table, and kept them all laughing in spite of themselves; so the meal passed off without any constraint or self-consciousness. After the children were in bed, and the cabin in order for the night, Jack drew Desiré out on the doorstep, and, sitting down, beside her, put his arm around her.
“Now tell me all about it,” he suggested gently.
“About what, Jack?”
“Whatever’s troubling you. It’s not fair to keep me in the dark, you know.”
Dropping her head on his broad shoulder, she related, in disjointed sentences, the history of the morning.
“I guessed as much,” he commented, as she finished. “I overheard their conversation on the bus.”
“Can’t they take it, if they don’t mind not having—having—”