It annoyed him greatly that Jacob Benson would have to know just how the money was secured; but he hoped that some day he could remove his affairs beyond the scope of the lawyer's knowledge. It was deeply humiliating that he should have this intimate acquaintance with them, for he knew that Benson would have his own opinion of him, and he knew him well enough to be aware that he would invest the transaction with none of the large charity with which Virginia was sure to regard it. Virginia said she would see Benson, and learn just what they could do, and with Benson's help, the money was raised; and Stephen was married to Marian three weeks later on the eve of his departure for the front.
Virginia accepted this as she always did the inevitable, with much composure and few words. It was useless to think that Marian could ever be anything to her—perhaps it was her own fault, and she was ready enough to admit that it might be; but there was no affection between them, and she felt that none was possible; and she was more sorry for Stephen than she had ever been for herself, for she knew he must suffer a bitter disappointment.
Tom Benson's gun had its trial, and he came home from Washington where he had received the report of the experts who had conducted the tests, one cold February morning, an aged and broken man. It was scarce day when he arrived in town, but instead of going home he went straight to the office, where he let himself in with the key he always carried; and when Jim Williams the bookkeeper, presented himself there shortly after seven o'clock, he found him still with his hat and overcoat on, and seated before his desk with his hands buried deep in his trousers' pockets, and seemingly quite unmindful of the bitter cold in the fireless room. He had been there for an hour or more but had hardly moved; first in absolute darkness, then the thin grey light had stolen in through the frosted windows, and the sun's faint rays as the day broke. But he had not noticed the change, and it was only when he heard Williams fumbling with numb fingers to fit his key to the lock that he stirred, gruffly calling to him to enter.
“When did you get back?” demanded Jim in frank surprise.
“This morning,” said Benson shortly.
“Train must have been late,” ventured Jim.
“Four hours.”
“Snow?”
“Yes.”
He had removed his hat and outer coat, and was hanging them up on their peg back of the door by his desk.