"Yes, he told me," grimly, "he asked me—he said he had your consent, Frances."
The girl, white, wide-eyed, nodded her answer.
"It would have been hard—but you know—you know—"
She felt for his hand on her shoulder and clasped it, she knew he would do anything he felt would make for her happiness.
"I had not thought much; I had not even—I had thought—" he blundered, daring no word of what he had borne dimly in mind. "How blind I have been! I should have known!"
There was dead silence between them, only the crackling of the dying fire in the stove. The dark was insupportable. The professor felt for the electric bulb and flashed up the light; it gave him courage.
"When he first spoke, I was dumbfounded. I asked him if"—he came back to his daughter's side. "He told me"— Again the silence. "Then he began to speak of settlements, settlements! He hesitated along time, and then he said, 'You know, I suppose, I am a divorced man!' I felt—" He clenched his hands, the veins stood out in his forehead. No need to put the emotion into words.
Frances got to her feet and pushed back her chair.
"Where are you going?"
"To speak to him!"