We all know that this is Ronnie's
principal failing. But--excuse me for saying so--it hardly deserved
quite so severe an indictment from you."
Helen wrung her hands.
Suddenly Dr. Dick took them both, firmly in his.
"Why don't you tell me the truth?" he said.
Then Helen told him.
She never could remember afterwards exactly how she told him, and no
one but Helen ever knew what Dr. Dick said and did. But, months
later--when in her presence aspersions were being cast on Dick for his
indomitable ambition, his ruthless annihilation of all who stood in his
way, his utter lack of religious principle and orthodox belief--Helen,
her sweet face shadowed by momentary sadness, her eyes full of pathetic
remembrance, spoke up for Ronnie's chum. "He may be a bad old thing in
many ways," she said; "I admit that the language he uses is calculated
to make his great-aunt Louisa, of sacred memory, turn in her grave!
But--he is a tower of strength in one's hour of need."
* * * * *
"No," said Dick, after a while, gazing straight before him into the
fire, his chin in his hands; "I can't believe Ronnie knew it. He was
just in the condition to become frantically excited by such news. He
would have been desperately anxious about you; wild that you should
have gone through it alone, and altogether absorbed in the idea of
coming home and seeing his child. The Infant of Prague would have had
its shining nose put completely out of joint.
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