The Road to Understanding Part 40

"Yes, I met her--at that reception, you know," said the doctor, answering the unspoken question.

"Oh, yes, I remember. Well, I did come near--but I pulled myself up in time. I knew, in my heart, she wasn't the kind of woman-- Then, too, there was Helen. It was only that I was feeling particularly reckless that fall. Besides, I know now that I've cared for Helen--the real Helen--all the time. And there _is_ a real Helen, I believe, underneath it all. As I look back at them--all those years--I know that during every single one of them I've been trying to get away from myself. If it hadn't been for dad--and that's the one joy I have: that I was able to be with dad. They weren't quite lost--those years, for they brought him joy."

"No, they've not been lost, Burke," said the doctor, with quiet emphasis.

Burke laughed a little grimly.

"Oh, I know what you mean, of course. I've been 'tried as by fire'--eh?

Well, I dare say I have--and I've been found woefully wanting. But enough of this!" he broke off abruptly, springing to his feet. "You don't happen to know of a young woman who has the skill of experience, the wisdom of age, the adaptability of youth, and the patience of Job all in one, do you?" he demanded.

The doctor turned with startled eyes.

"Why, Burke, after all this, you don't mean--"

"No, it's not a wife I'm looking for," interposed Burke, with a whimsical shrug. "It's a--a stenographer or private secretary, only she must be much more than the ordinary kind. I want to catalogue all this truck father and I have acc.u.mulated. She must know French and German--a little Greek and Hebrew wouldn't be amiss. And I want one that would be interested in this sort of thing--one who will realize she isn't handling--er--potatoes, say. My eyes are going back on me, too, and I shall want her to read to me; so I must like her voice. I don't want anything, you see," he smiled grimly.

"I should say not," laughed the doctor, rising. "But before you can give me any more necessary qualifications, I guess I'd better be going to bed."

"I don't wonder, after the harangue I've given you. But--you don't know of such a person, do you?"

"I don't."

"No, I suppose not--nor anybody else," finished Burke Denby, a profound gloom that had become habitual settling over his face.

"If I do I'll send her to you," nodded the doctor, halfway through the door. The doctor was in a hurry to get up to his room--he had a letter to write.

"Thanks," said Burke Denby, still dryly, as he waved his hand in good-night.

"Stenographer, indeed!" sang the doctor under his breath, bounding up the stairs like a boy. "Wait till he sees what I am going to get him!"

he finished, striding down the hall and into his own room.

Before he slept the doctor wrote his letter to Helen. It was a long one, and a joyous one. It told everything that Burke had said, even to his plaintive plea for a private secretary.

There could be no doubt now, no further delay, declared the doctor.

Helen would come home at once, of course. It only remained for them to decide on the mere details of just how and when. Meanwhile, when might they expect her in Boston? She would come, of course, to his sister's first; and he trusted it would be soon--very soon.

Addressing the letter to Mrs. Helen Darling, the doctor tucked it into his pocket to be mailed at the station in the morning. Then, for the few hours before rising time, he laid himself down to sleep. But he did not sleep. His brain was altogether too actively picturing the arrival of Helen Denby and her daughter at the old Denby Mansion, and the meeting between them and the master of the house. And to think that at last it was all coming out right!

CHAPTER XIX

THE STAGE IS SET

Impatient as was the doctor for an answer to his letter, it came before he expected, for a cablegram told of Helen's almost immediate departure for America.

"I thought that would fetch her," he crowed to his sister. "And she'll be here just next week Wednesday. That'll get her up to Dalton before Sunday."

"Perhaps," observed Mrs. Thayer cautiously.

"No 'perhaps' to it," declared the doctor,--"if the boat gets here. You don't suppose she's going to delay any longer now, do you? Besides, isn't she starting for America about as soon as she can? Does that look as if she were losing much time?"

"No, it doesn't," she admitted laughingly.

The doctor and his sister were not surprised to see a very lovely and charming Helen with the distinction and mellow maturity that the dozen intervening years had brought. Her letters had shown them something of that. But they were not prepared for the changes those same years had wrought in Dorothy Elizabeth.

To Helen, their frank start of amazement and quick interchange of glances upon first sight of the girl were like water to a long-parched throat.

"You do think she's lovely?" she whispered to the frankly staring doctor, as Mrs. Thayer welcomed the young girl.

"Lovely! She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw!" avowed the doctor, with a laughing shrug at his own extravagance.

"And she's just as sweet and dear as she is lovely," whispered back the adoring mother, as the girl turned to meet the doctor.

"You've your mother's eyes, my dear," said the doctor, very much as he had said it to the little Betty years before.

"Have I?" The girl smiled happily. "I'm so glad! I love mother's eyes."

It was not until hours later, when Betty had gone to bed, that there was any opportunity to talk over plans. Then, before the fire in the library, Helen found herself alone with the doctor and his sister.

"You see, I came almost as soon as I could," she began at once. "I did stay one day--for a wedding."

"A wedding?"

"Yes, and some one you know, too-- Mr. Donald Estey."

"Really?" cried Mrs. Thayer.

"Jove! After all this time?" The doctor's eyebrows went up.

"Yes. And I'm so glad--especially glad for--for he thought once, years ago, that he cared for some one else. And I like to know he's happy--now."

"Hm-m," murmured the doctor, with a shrewd smile and a sidelong glance at his sister. "So he's happy--_now_, eh?"

"Oh, very! And she's a beautiful girl."

"As beautiful as--Betty, say?" The doctor's voice was teasing.

A wonderful light came to Helen's face.

"You do think she's beautiful, don't you?" she cried, with a smile that told she needed no answer.

"She's a dear--in every way," avowed Mrs. Thayer.

"And to think of all this coming to Burke Denby, without even a turn of his hand," envied the doctor. "Lucky dog! And to get you _both_! He doesn't deserve it!"