"John," replied the woman, turning upon him a radiant face, "it is the most beautiful thing in the world—that boy's love for Jennie! Why, every night after his work is done, sitting there in the office alone, Neal writes her a letter, that he never mails; just takes his heart to her, John. I found a great stack of them in his desk the other day."
Barclay's face crinkled in a spasm of pain, and he exclaimed, "Poor little kids—poor, poor children."
"John—" Molly Brown well hesitated, and then took courage and cried: "Won't you—won't you for Ellen's sake? It is like that—like you and Ellen. And," she stammered, "oh, John, I do want to see one such love affair end happily before I die."
Barclay's hard jaw trembled, and his eyes were wet as he rose and limped across the great room. At the foot of the stairs he called up, "Don't bother with the phone, Jeanette, I'm going to use it." He explained, "The branch in her room rings when we use this one," and then asked, "Do you know where he is—at home or at the office?"
"If the ten o'clock train is in, he's at the office. If not, he's not in town."
But Barclay went to the hall, and when he returned he said, "Well, I got him; he'll be right out."
Molly was standing by the fire. "What are you going to say, John?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know. There'll be enough for me to say, I suppose," he replied, as he looked at the floor.
She gave him her hand, and they stood for a minute looking back into their lives. They walked together toward the door, but at the threshold their eyes met and each saw tears, and they parted without words.
Neal Ward found Barclay prodding the fire, and the gray little man, red-faced from his task, limped toward the tall, handsome youth, and led him to a chair. Barclay stood for a time with his back to the fire, and his head down, and in the silence he seemed to try to speak several times before the right words came. Then he exclaimed: