He tried quiet expostulation: "Surely, Gerald, you are not serious in making such a decision? Mrs. Dampier, from what I know of her, would be. the last to exact from you the fulfilment of so—so unreasonable a promise. Why, you and I both know quite well that the Paris police, and also Mr. Stephens, are convinced that this man Dampier just left his wife of his own free will."
"I know they think that! But it's a lie!" cried Gerald with blazing eyes. "An infamous lie! I should like to see Mr. Stephens dare suggest such a notion to John Dampier's wife. Not that she is his wife, father, for I'm sure the man is dead—and I believe—I hope that she's beginning to think so too!"
"But if Dampier is dead, Gerald, then—" the Senator was beginning to lose patience, but he was anxious not to lose his temper too, not to make himself more unpleasant than he must do. "Surely you see yourself, my boy, that if the man is dead, there's nothing more for you to do here, in Paris?"
"Father, there's everything! The day I make sure that John Dampier is dead will be the happiest day of my life." His voice had sunk low, he muttered the last words between his teeth; but alas! the Senator heard them all too clearly.
"Gerald!" he said gravely. "Gerald? Am I to understand—"
"Father—don't say anything you might be sorry for afterwards! Yes, you have guessed truly. I love Nancy! If the man is dead—and I trust to God he is—I hope to marry her some day. If—if you and Mr. Stephens are right—if he is still alive—well then—" he waited a moment, and that moment was the longest the Senator had ever known—"then, father, I promise you I will come home. But in that case I shall never, never marry anybody else. Daisy knows," went on the young man, unconsciously dealing his father another bitter blow. "Daisy knows—she guessed, and—she understands."
"And does she approve?" asked the Senator sternly.
"I don't know—I don't care!" cried Gerald fiercely. "I am not looking for anyone's approval. And, father?" His voice altered, it became what the other had never heard his son's voice be, suppliant:—"I have trusted you with my secret—but let it be from now as if I had not spoken. I beg of you not to discuss it with Daisy—I need not ask you not to speak of it to anybody else."
The Senator nodded. He was too agitated, too horror-stricken to speak, and his agitation was not lessened by his son's final words.