Daniel was frightened. It was time to explain, and yet, considering his daughter's look and manner, he was afraid to explain.
“You see,” he stammered, “well, you see, Gertie, that's an answer, that is. John didn't send it, he'd gone. But, I presume likely they thought my telegram ought to be answered, so—”
Gertrude interrupted. “Your telegram?” she repeated. “YOUR telegram? What telegram?”
“Why, the telegram I sent to John. I knew you hadn't heard from him, and I thought probably—”
“Wait—wait a minute. Did YOU send a telegram to—to him?”
“Yes; sure I did. I—”
“What did you say?”
“I said—why, I said that you—we, I mean—was wonderin' about him and—and missin' him and when was he comin' back here. That's about what I said. I wrote it in a hurry and I don't remember exactly. That's about it, anyhow. Why, what's the matter?”
Gertrude had risen.
“You said that!” she cried. “You—without a word to me—said—you begged him to come back! Begged him! on your knees! to—to—”