Stephen had kept away from his aunt, he had kept away from Elinor; in spite of a consuming desire to know what they were doing, thinking, saying, he was quite cut off from them. He harked back and forth over those points Wade had marshalled for his benefit, and in the end it became as impossible to think that a hard-headed fellow like Ben could be mistaken, as it was to think that he could possibly be right in this particular instance.
Wretched days passed in uncomfortable companionship with his own thoughts. At last it was not to be longer borne. He must see and talk with some one. Wade had told him that the Nortons were wholly in his aunt's confidence; he would see the banker and get his opinion. He had the utmost respect for his judgment. He wondered he had not gone to him before.
He went down to the bank, but it was already late in the afternoon and Norton had left for home. He would not be back that day. Stephen went at once to the house, where Norton received him with frank cordiality; and Stephen felt his heart flow toward him. Here was a sane and reasonable judgment on which he felt he could rely.
“I was asking Wade only last night where you'd hidden yourself away, Stephen. Come in,” said Norton, for Stephen had paused irresolutely at the door, and he led the way into the house.
“I suppose,” began Stephen, when they were seated, “that you have heard about Wade's discoveries.”
“Yes, certainly, rather sensational, too. Upon my word, I was in a muddle for days after they told me of them.”
“Of course, I don't need to ask how Mrs. Norton feels in the matter.”
“You don't, Stephen. My wife agrees with her mother, and her mother agrees with Mrs. Landray. She always has and she always will.”
“I suppose then, the facts, if we are to consider them facts, are as well known to you as they are to me.”
“Probably, yes. They are hard to go back of, Stephen,” said Norton, with grave kindness.