It was impossible to say from Wetherbee’s manner of departure, whether
he intended to return or not. We could scarcely consider the interview
ended, when we had made no movement toward going ourselves, and while
deliberating what was best to do, there was a light step in the hall,
and the door again opened, admitting a middle aged woman who approached
us with a frown. We bowed.
"May I inquire the nature of your errand?" she began, without addressing
either one of us in particular; but Torrence, stepping forward,
answered:
"Our visit is hardly in the way of an errand, madam. We are here upon an
important business engagement with Mr. Wetherbee, who I trust will soon
return to give us an opportunity to continue our conversation."
"I was afraid so!" she replied with a look of regret. She sat down in
the same chair that Wetherbee had occupied, and asked us to resume our
seats. There was something odd in her manner, which betrayed deep
concern in our visit. Putting her hand in her pocket she drew out a
spectacle case, and placed the glasses upon her nose. Then she looked
at us each in turn with growing interest.
"You need not conceal your business from me, gentlemen," she continued,
"Mr. Wetherbee is my father. As you are aware, he is a very old man,
and I am acting in the double capacity of nurse and guardian for him.
He does nothing without my knowledge."
Her manner was thoroughly earnest, and the expression of her face that
of deep concern. Torrence replied after a moment’s hesitation as
follows:
"While not for a moment doubting your statement, madam, would it not be
a little more regular to ask Mr. Wetherbee’s consent before speaking of
a matter in which he is equally interested with ourselves? If he says
so, I shall be more than willing to explain to you all that we have been
talking about. Meanwhile I can only say that our business was upon a
matter of great importance, which I should hardly feel at liberty to
divulge without the agreement of all parties concerned."
She did not answer for several minutes, during which time the hard look
in her eyes softened; I even thought they were dimmed with tears. For a
moment she averted her face and taking off her glasses polished them
thoroughly, returning them to her pocket. Then she stared into the fire
as if thinking how to proceed, and then without removing her eyes, said:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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