"Yes, Gertrude. I—I did not think it possible."
"But I don't understand, Uncle Mark. Did you—er—did you send to her?"
"I will confess I did, Homer. I could stand it no longer. I wanted to see the dear child again."
"And she turned her back on you?" went on Bulson, hardly knowing what to say.
"She did. I sent for her to come at once. She had not gone to Boston, but to Lakewood, and was to be back in the evening. That was yesterday. She is not yet here, and that proves that she has forsaken me and wants nothing more to do with me."
At these words a crafty look came into Homer Bulson's eyes.
"Uncle Mark, I am sorry for you, but I could have told you as much some time ago," he said smoothly.
"You could have told me?"
"Yes. I went to Gertrude when she was thinking of going to Boston and begged her to come back. I even offered to go away, so that she would not be bothered with me. But she would not listen. She said that she was done with you, and that she preferred her theatrical friends to such a home as this, where there was no excitement. She is changed—and changed for the worse."