Bennie D. held up a hand. He was delighted by this piece of news, but he did not show it.
“That will do,” he said. “I understand all that. But since then—since then? What do you mean by trying to influence her as you have? Answer me!”
The lightkeeper rubbed his forehead.
“I ain't tried to influence her,” he declared. “She and me have scarcely seen each other. Nobody knows that we was married, not even Miss Graham nor the young feller that's—that's my helper at the lights. You must know that. She must have wrote you. What are you talkin' about?”
She had not written; he had received no letters from her during the two years, but again the wily “genius” was equal to the occasion. He looked wise and nodded.
“Of course,” he said importantly. “Of course. Certainly.”
He hesitated, not knowing exactly what his next move should be. And Seth, having had time to collect, in a measure, his scattered wits, began to do some thinking on his own account.
“Say,” he said suddenly, “if you knew all this aforehand, what are you askin' these questions for?”
“That,” Bennie D.'s gesture was one of lofty disdain, “is my business.”
“I want to know! Well, then, maybe I've got some business of my own. Who made my business your business? Hey?”