"Son?" he said gently.
"Yes, dear. I'm sure he will be our—son."
The man sighed. He was thinking of Frank. He was thinking of another woman who had said that to him. He was thinking of all he had come to tell this woman, and he knew he must remain silent. The doctor said she must not be excited. The way he had calculated to beat the man Tug was barred to him, and he knew he had thought more of beating him than of the honesty of his purpose.
Monica looked up at him with a little sigh.
"Tell me, dear, how are the Trust affairs going?" she asked, a little eagerly. "I seem to have lost all touch with them."
Hendrie promptly exerted himself.
"Why, things couldn't be better," he said, lying deliberately.
"I'm so glad. Your scheme will win out as your schemes always do. You are—a wonderful man, Alec." She sighed contentedly. "Tell me of them."
There was no escape, and Hendrie promptly resigned himself. He knew he must draw a glowing picture for this gentle, sick creature, who loved him, and he did his best.
He told her of the general position of things, carefully suppressing everything of an unpleasant nature, or glossing them over. He just hinted at the labor unrest, feeling it would be best to leave it alone. But Monica eagerly caught at the hints.