Mr. Carter, who had become nervous under continued misfortune, started violently.
“I don’t know. Do you happen to think he’s drowned himself?”
“Johnson!”
“I’m expecting anything,” said Mr. Carter desperately. “There’s only one sensible person in this family, and that’s Dan.”
“Dan’s out at the Denbighs’—I don’t know what for. He’s been out there twice since Friday, and he’s worried. I can see it.”
“Of course! He’s in love with that girl now, I reckon, and she won’t have a cripple.”
“He isn’t a cripple!” cried his mother warmly. “He’s only lame; but it’s not that; papa—I think it’s something about—” She looked around a little flushed and added, in a whisper, “about Fanchon.”
Mr. Carter said something short and cryptic and relapsed into silence.
“I don’t feel that it’s right,” his wife continued bravely. “It’s worrying me, Johnson. William hasn’t—well, he hasn’t shown any feeling at all.”
“He’s going to get a divorce.”