He stood looking at her in stupefaction, with his hand on his hat and stick, like a man who doubts whether he has heard aright. Presently a shiver passed over him, another light came into his eyes, and he said quietly, “I'm going out to see Atherton.”
“To-night?” said his sister, accepting provisionally, as women do, the apparent change of subject. “Don't go to-night, Ben! You're too tired.”
“I'm not tired. I intended to see him to-night, at any rate. I want to talk over this South American scheme with him.” He put on his hat, and moved quickly toward the door.
“Ask him about the Hubbards,” said Olive. “Perhaps he can tell you something.”
“I don't want to know anything. I shall ask him nothing.”
She slipped between him and the door. “Ben, you haven't heard anything against poor Marcia, have you?”
“No!”
“You don't think she's to blame in any way for his going wrong, do you?
“How could I?”
“Then I don't understand why you won't do anything to help her.”