At this moment he became conscious that Keatcham was avoiding his gaze in the very manner of his avoiding of Keatcham’s a moment ago; and it gave him a bewildering sensation.
“I wanted to marry my wife for seven years before we were married,” Keatcham continued in that carefully monotonous voice. “She was the daughter of the superintendent of the mine where I was working. I was only eighteen when I first saw her. I was twenty-five when we were married. She used to give me lessons; she was educated and accomplished. She did more than is easy telling, for me. Of course, her parents were opposed at first because they looked higher for her, but she brought them round by her patience and her sweetness and her faith in me. Six months after we were married, she had an accident which left her a helpless invalid in a wheeled chair, at the best; at the worst, suffering—you’ve known what it is to see anybody, whom you care for, in horrible pain and trying not to show it when you come near?”
“I have,” said Winter; “merry hell, isn’t it?”
“I have seen that expression,” said Keatcham; “I never recognized its peculiar appropriateness before. Yes, it is that. Yet, Winter, those two years she lived afterwards were the happiest of my whole life. She said, the last night she was with me, that they had been the happiest of hers.” The same flush which once before, when he had seemed moved, had crept up to his temples, burned his hollow cheeks. He was holding the edge of the table with the tips of his fingers and the blood settled about the nails with the pressure of his grip. There was an intense moment during which Winter vainly struggled to think of something to say and looked more of his sympathy than he was aware; then: “Cary Mercer needn’t think that he has had all the hard times in the world!” said Keatcham in his usual toneless voice, relaxing his hold and leaning back on his pillows. The color ebbed away gradually from his face.
“I don’t wonder you didn’t marry again,” said Winter.
“You would not wonder if you had known Helen. She always understood. Of course, now, at sixty-one, I could buy a pretty, innocent, young girl who would do as her parents bade her, and cry her eyes out before the wedding, or a handsome and brilliant society woman with plenty of matrimonial experience—but I don’t want them. I should have to explain myself to them; I don’t know how to explain myself; you see I can’t half do it—”
“I reckon I understand a little.”
“I guess you do. You are different, too. Well, let’s get down to business, think up some way of getting the women out of the house; and get your sleuths after Atkins. It is ‘we get him, or he gets us!’”
The amateur secretary assented and prepared to go, for the valet was at the door, ready to relieve him; but opposite Keatcham, he paused a second, made a pretense of hunting for his hat, picked it up in his left hand and held out the right hand, saying, “Well, take care of yourself.”
Keatcham nodded; he shook the hand with a good firm pressure. “Much obliged, Winter,” said he.