“Indeed there is! He ought to know all about that disgusting Bittridge business, and you have got to tell him.”
“Sarah, I couldn’t. It is too humiliating. How would it do to refer him to—You could manage that part so much better. I don’t see how I could keep it from seeming an indelicate betrayal of the poor child—”
“Perhaps she’s told him herself,” Mrs. Kenton provisionally suggested.
The judge eagerly caught at the notion. “Do you think so? It would be like her! Ellen would wish him to know everything.”
He stopped, and his wife could see that he was trembling with excitement. “We must find out. I will speak to Ellen—”
“And—you don’t think I’d better have the talk with him first?”
“Certainly not!”
“Why, Rufus! You were not going to look him up?”
“No,” he hesitated; but she could see that some such thing had been on his mind.
“Surely,” she said, “you must be crazy!” But she had not the heart to blight his joy with sarcasm, and perhaps no sarcasm would have blighted it.