“You’re nothing but a child!” Mr. Carter exclaimed angrily, but he was searching back in his own mind. He had always planned this match between his favorite son and Virginia Denbigh, and Emily’s words went home. He reddened. “Dan, do you know anything about this?” he demanded, turning on his son.
Daniel, who was standing with his hand on the back of his chair, just as he had risen, averted his eyes.
“I’d rather not say anything about it, father,” he replied after a moment. “It’s—it’s not fair to Miss Denbigh, is it, to discuss it?”
His father, who had been observing him narrowly, thrust William’s letter into his pocket.
“I see it’s true,” he remarked dryly, “Emily’s got more candor than you have, that’s all.”
Daniel made no reply to this. He reached for his cane and moved silently toward the door, aware of Emily’s cryptic gaze.
Mr. Carter, meanwhile, broke out stormily again, striking the edge of the table.
“I’m ashamed of William!” he growled. “My son—and no sense of honor! I—I’d like to thrash him!”
No one replied to this. Daniel opened the door, went out, and closed it gently behind him. In the pause they heard his slow, slightly halting tread as he went across the hall to the front porch and descended the steps. As the last echo of his footsteps died away, Emily turned to her father.
“Why, papa, didn’t you know why Dan wouldn’t tell about Willie and Virginia?” she asked wisely.