“Yes,” said Ben, “I’ll take it,” and he called a stenographer. “Dictate your story to her and then see me to-morrow, when I will have the papers drawn up. If your counter charges amount to anything at all we can beat her—that is, if you want to beat her. As I understand it you don’t want her to get a divorce from you?”
“That’s it exactly. It isn’t that I care a rap, but I don’t care to be made a scapegoat, and I think when she knows what kind of an answer I have she’ll drop the whole case and take to the woods, which will suit me down to the ground.”
At 11 o’clock Ben saw the transcribed notes of the amanuensis and he hadn’t read more than ten lines when he jumped from his chair as though it had suddenly become red-hot.
“Miss Bates,” he called sharply, “bring me your note book.”
In she came and handed it to him.
“You’ll say nothing about this?”
“No, sir,” but there was the suggestion of a smile around the corners of her mouth.
He thrust it in his pocket and in a minute was out of the door.
There was a little luncheon date on with Bess for 12 o’clock, but he couldn’t wait. He was at the appointed place a full hour before the time, and he sat at the table glaring at the door. Exactly on the stroke of the hour she came in smiling.
“Why, Ben, what’s the matter? You look as though you had been struck by a blizzard.”