"Yes," Gordon discussed the subject with evident reluctance, "he's going over with me, to learn the business—he may never have a better opportunity."
The light went out of Barry's eyes. He left the little group, wandered to the window, and stood looking out.
"Mary will go next," Delilah prophesied. "With Constance and Barry on the other side, she won't be able to keep away."
Mary shook her head. "What would Aunt Isabelle and Susan Jenks and Pittiwitz do without me?"
"What would I do without you?" Porter demanded, boldly. "Don't put such ideas in her head, Delilah; she's remote enough as it is."
But Mary was not listening. Barry had slipped from the room, and presently she followed him. Leila had seen him go, and had looked after him longingly, but of late she had seemed timid in her public demonstrations; it was as if she felt when she was under the eye of others that by some sign or look she might betray her secret.
Mary found Barry down-stairs in the little office, his head in his hands.
"Dear boy," she said, and touched his bright hair with hesitating fingers.
He reached up and caught her hand.
"Mary," he said, brokenly, "what's the use? I began wrong—and I guess I'll go on wrong to the end."