"Ah," said the old man, shaking his head, "you are shrewd. You are not willing to let it pass. Florence, we both saw Goyle disguised with his devilish art as Howard."
She gazed at him. "Is that all?"
"All? Is not that enough for us to know, my child?"
"But, why did brother happen to lead you into the office just at that time?"
"There, I have told enough, and what I have told you must not repeat. If there is anything to come, Howard may tell you, but my wife must never know that I have been so weak and unnatural a father."
"But she can see that something must have occurred to change your bearing toward Howard. Mr. William has told her that you have sent for him, and she is in her room with tears of joy in her eyes."
"Florence, I am striving to be calm, the master of myself. I don't deserve to be happy—not yet. How could I have been so blind? And how at times could I have indulged in levity with such a sorrow upon my heart?"
"It was the truth, father, striving to break through."
He nodded his head. "Yes, and now we must tell her something. Ah, tell her that a man came and brought me word that my brother is not dead. Keep her from coming to me with any sort of demonstration. I can't stand it. I must recall my old self and become gradually accustomed to it. I must realize that it was all a dream and that it is passing away. Tomorrow, with Howard, we may make a joke of it."
"It will never be a joke with me."