“But she died, you told me, when they were still children.”
“Yes, that was when I was abroad. You see when I went I expected to return in a year at most, but I staid on, following one perplexing tangle after another in connection with my business affairs, until four or five years slipped away. Meantime their aunt died, and the old housekeeper, who had lived with their family since the last century sometime, took her place, and managed for them as well as she could. I didn’t realize how things were going. I imagined everything would come out right, you know.”
“I don’t see how they could,” Ruth said, coldly, and Judge Burnham answered nothing.
“Didn’t they attend school?”
“Why, yes, they went to the country school out there, you know, when there was one. It is too near the city to secure good advantages, and yet too far away for convenience. I meant, you see, to have them in town, when I came home, at the best schools, and boarding with me, but I found it utterly impracticable—utterly so. You have no conception of what five years of absence will do for people.”
“I can imagine something of what five years of neglect would do.”
Ruth said it icily—as she could speak. Then he would say, “Oh, Ruth!” in a tone which was entreating and almost pitiful. And he would start up and pace back and forth through the room for a moment, until brought back by one of her stabbing questions.
“How have they lived since your return?”