Lila snatched the window curtain, and closing it, whispered: “Quick–quick–we don’t care–quick–they may come in when he gets on the porch.”
Through a thin slit in the closed curtains they watched the gaunt figure climb the veranda steps and they heard the elders ask:
“Well?” and the younger man replied, “Nothing–nothing–” he repeated, “but heartbreak.”
Then he added as he walked to the half-open door, “Doctor–it seems to me that I should go to Laura now; to Laura and her mother.”
“Yes,” returned the Doctor, “I suppose that is the thing to do.”
Grant’s hand was on the door screen, and the Doctor’s eyes grew bright with emotion, as he called:
“You’re a trump, boy.”
The two old men looked at each other mutely and watched the door closing after him. Inside, Grant said: “Lila–ask your mother and grandmother if they can come to the Doctor’s little office–I want to speak to them.” After the girl had gone, Grant stood by Kenyon, with his arm about the young man, looking down at him tenderly. When he heard the women stirring above on the stairs, Grant patted Kenyon’s shoulder, while the man’s face twitched and the muscles of his hard jaw worked as though he were chewing a bitter cud.
The three, Grant and the mother and the mother’s mother, left the lovers in such awe as love may hold in the midst of its rapture, and when the office door had closed, and the women were seated, Grant Adams, who stood holding to a chair back, spoke:
510“It’s about Kenyon. And I don’t know, perhaps I should have spoken sooner. But I must speak now.”