“I’m sure the judge will tell you what is necessary.”
“He will tell me nothing. I have endured much in the past, Zebulon! I have not asked to know much about your affairs,” she went on, trying to get a square look into his eyes. “This time I must know!”
“I have told you!” From his tone it was hard to tell what his emotions were. The words sounded as if somebody were talking into a tin spout a long way off.
“You have told me nothing except that you are going! You do not say where. You have not told me when you are coming back.”
“We don’t exactly know, Mrs. Kingsley. But I assure you that the trip is very necessary,” I put in.
“I must tell you that mother is not well,” said Celene, wistfully. “I’m sure everything is all right, but we must know where you are going so that we may be in touch with you.”
“We can keep you posted—when we know where we are,” I said; but I did not sound very convincing, I fear. God knows, I wanted to put my arms around her and comfort her and tell her that I was madly trying to save her, her home, her mother, and her father from disgrace and ruin. I guess no man has ever figured out beyond doubt whether it’s better to tell the woman everything or to hide trouble as long as possible. When women are proud they never forget the disgrace, whether it is revealed outside or if it’s merely kept secret in the household. And in Zebulon Kingsley’s case I was proposing to keep the effect of the disgrace as well as all knowledge of it away from those women.
I knew how he felt in the matter! He had chosen revolvers and ropes rather than face them. I was determined to be just as resolute as he—until a show-down was inevitable.
It would be a sorry triumph, a half job, if they were obliged to live out their lives knowing that the master of the household had lived for years in the shadow of prison; it meant the wrecking of all their pride and ideals—no more joy in home or life itself in the case of such women as they. I understood!
The big dock was ticking off minutes rapidly. Our time was short. I shuffled my feet, impatiently wishing that Judge Kingsley would hurry up. His woe-begone, frozen face was making the thing worse every minute he stayed there.