“Hey?” He started, leaned back and regarded her with astonishment and some alarm.
“You’ve been to see Mr. Pearson,” she repeated, “haven’t you?”
“Why—why, yes, Caroline, I have—to tell you the truth. I don’t see how you knew, but,” nervously, “I hope you don’t feel bad ’cause I did. I go to see him pretty often. You see, I think a good deal of him—a whole lot of him. I think he’s a fine young feller. Course I know you don’t, and so I never mention him to you. But I do hope you ain’t goin’ to ask me not to see him.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I would have no right to ask that, even if I wished to. And I do not wish it. Uncle Elisha, if you were alone here, he would come to see you; I know he would. Invite him to come, please.”
His astonishment was greater than ever.
“Invite him to come here?” he asked. “To see you?”
“No,” hastily; “to see you. This is your home. I have no right to keep your friends from visiting it. I know you would sacrifice everything for me, even them; but I will not be so selfish as to allow it. Ask him here, please. I really want you to.”
He pulled his beard. “Caroline,” he answered slowly, “I’m much obliged to you. I understand why you’re doin’ this, and I thank you. But it ain’t likely that I’ll say yes, is it? And do you suppose Jim would come if I did ask him? He knows you believe he’s a—well, all that’s bad. You told him so, and you sent him away. I will give in that I’d like to have him here. He’s one of the few men friends I’ve made since I landed in New York. But, under the circumstances—you feelin’ as you do—I couldn’t ask him, and he wouldn’t come if I did.”
She remained silent for a time. Then she said: “Uncle, I want you to tell me the truth about Mr. Pearson and father—just why they quarreled and the real truth of the whole affair. Don’t spare my feelings; tell me what you believe is the true story. I know you think Mr. Pearson was right, for you said so.”
The captain was much troubled.