“You weren't? Why not? You missed a wonderful thing.”
And Burgess told her the whole story from his viewpoint, of course. What he was too proud to mention to Dr. Fenneben or Elinor he spoke of freely to Dennie, and he felt as if the weight of the limestone ledge was lifted from him with the telling.
“Don't you think the young ruffian was pretty hard on me?” he asked.
“No, I don't,” Dennie said, frankly. “I think you were pretty hard on him.”
A sudden resolve seized Burgess. He came around to Dennie's side of the table.
“Miss Dennie, I want to tell you something, unimportant in itself, but better shared than kept. On the night of our picnic in October your father, who was not quite himself—”
“Yes, I understand,” Dennie said, with downcast eyes.
“Pardon me, Dennie, I would not hurt your feelings.” His voice was very gentle, and Dennie looked up gratefully. “On that night your father made me promise—made me hold up my hand and swear—I'm easily forced, you will think—to look after you if he were taken away. I did it to pacify him, not to ever embarrass you. He also told me enough about young Burleigh to make me wish, in the office of protector, to warn you.”
“Was my father quite himself then?” Dennie asked.
“Not quite,” Burgess replied.