“Shall I get him, Lola?” He turned to her with something like a warning in his voice.
“Why yes, John. I am very fond of Maria, and I want you to make everything as easy for her as you can.”
“I will be back in fifteen minutes.”
He turned and left the room, and the house. He was stunned. Maria did not take that money! He was sure of that. He could not have told why, but he was sure. There could be no doubt. He had seen the truth in her eyes. If she did not take it—who did? To him also came back Maria’s words, “It was just me—or her.” He put that thought out of his mind, or tried to. He must know. If Maria did not do this thing she must not be allowed to suffer for it, of that alone he was sure. They must know! He crossed to Broadway, almost running, and jumped on a downtown car. It was only a few blocks, but he must return as quickly as possible.
“How are you, Dorris? Here’s a seat.”
John looked up at the words and recognized Dr. Rupert.
“Good evening, Doctor. Thank you.” He sat down beside the Doctor, keeping his eyes fixed on the passing street signs, anxious that he should not be taken past his corner.
“It was very kind of your wife, Doctor,” he began pleasantly, more to make conversation than for any other reason, “to do so much to help Miss Barnhelm this afternoon. I hope that she did not tire herself.”
“You haven’t been taking a drop too much, have you, John?” exclaimed Dr. Rupert, smiling broadly.
“Why?”