Her old confidence in her father surged up in the presence of the callers; but after they had gone the remembrance of the morning’s episode, with her new realization of her father, persisted in returning. She caught herself wondering if it were possible that he, knowing that the waste from his mill was polluting the water and causing sickness, had done nothing about it. Loyally she fought back the thought. He wouldn’t do that–a wicked thing. He didn’t know the truth–if the water was bad. That was the point. Before she talked to him she ought to be certain about it. Joe Curtis knew and could tell her the truth. Her father, hearing it from her, would be glad to do the right thing.
Yet, regardless of her hopeful reasoning, the memories of the morning–of her father’s temper torn face in all of its selfish cruelty of expression–came back to her and filled her with strange indefinite forebodings of evil.
So, it was a different Virginia who came to Joe Curtis that afternoon. It was one in whose face there were vague shadows of anxiety and sadness which, regardless of pathetic efforts at disguise, spoke of an unquiet heart.
He sensed the change in her as she greeted him. But his cheery salutation and his boyish bursts of humor could not arouse the care free girl whom he had known.
She came quickly to the matter which was uppermost in her mind.
“Joe, you work for the State Board of Health, don’t you?”
His face sobered at her question, as if he recognized the approach of complications. He nodded affirmatively.
“You took samples of the river water to find out if it were made unfit for people to drink by the waste from my father’s mill, didn’t you?”
He delayed his response so long that she was forced to repeat her question before she could get even a nod of admission.
“Joe, does my father’s mill spoil the water?”