During the evening that followed he made his resolution, not to tell her, never to let her suspect the truth. But he began to wonder if she had heard something, for he found her eyes on him more than once, and when Margaret had gone up to bed she came over and sat on the arm of his chair. She said an odd thing then, and one that made it impossible to lie to her later. “I come to you, a good bit as I would go to God, if he were a person,” she said. “I have got to know something, and you can tell me.” He put his arm around her and held her close. “Go ahead, honey.” “Daddy, do you realize that I am a woman now?” “I try to. But it seems about six months since I was feeding you hot water for colic.” She sat still for a moment, stroking his hair and being very careful not to spoil his neat parting. “You have never told me all about Dick, daddy. You have always kept something back. That's true, isn't it?” “There were details,” he said uncomfortably. “It wasn't necessary--” “Here's what I want to know. If he has gone back to the time--you know, wouldn't he go back to caring for the people he loved then?” Then, suddenly, her childish appeal ceased, and she slid from the chair and stood before him. “I must know, father. I can bear it. The thing you have been keeping from me was another woman, wasn't it?” “It was so long ago,” he temporized. “Think of it, Elizabeth. A boy of twenty-one or so.” “Then there was?” “I believe so, at one time. But I know positively that he hadn't seen or heard from her in ten years.” “What sort of woman?” “I wouldn't think about it, honey. It's all so long ago.” “Did she live in Wyoming?” “She was an actress,” he said, hard driven by her persistence. “Do you know her name?” “Only her stage name, honey.” “But you know she was an actress!” He sighed. “All right, dear,” he said. “I'll tell you all I know. She was an actress, and she married another man. That's all there is to it. She's not young now. She must be thirty now--if she's living,” he added, as an afterthought. It was some time before she spoke again. “I suppose she was beautiful,” she said slowly. “I don't know. Most of them aren't, off the stage. Anyhow, what does it matter now?” “Only that I know he has gone back to her. And you know it too.” He heard her going quietly out of the room. Long after, he closed the house and went cautiously upstairs. She was waiting for him in the doorway of her room, in her nightgown. “I know it all now,” she said steadily. “It was because of her he shot the other man, wasn't it?” She saw her answer in his startled face, and closed her door quickly. He stood outside, and then he tapped lightly. “Let me in, honey,” he said. “I want to finish it. You've got a wrong idea about it.” When she did not answer he tried the door, but it was locked. He turned and went downstairs again... When he came home the next afternoon Margaret met him in the hall. “She knows it, Walter.” “Knows what?”