The Road to Understanding
Copyright© 2024 by Eleanor H. Porter
Chapter 19: 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!”
“But he isn’t going to get us both!” Helen’s eyes were twinkling, but her mouth showed suddenly firm lines.
The doctor wheeled sharply.
“What do you mean? Surely, now you aren’t going to—to—” He stopped helplessly.
“He’s going to get her—but not me.”
“Oh, come, come, Helen, my dear!” protested two dismayed voices.
But Helen shook her head decidedly.
“Listen. I’ve got it all planned. You said he wanted a—a sort of private secretary or stenographer, didn’t you?”
“Why, y-yes.”
“Well, I’m going to send Betty.”
“Betty!”
“Certainly. She can fill the position—you needn’t worry about that. She’s eighteen, you know, and she’s really very self-reliant and capable. She doesn’t understand shorthand, of course; but she can write his letters for him, just the same, and in three or four languages, if he wants her to. She can typewrite. Mr. Reynolds got a typewriter for the girls long ago. And she loves to fuss over old books and curios. She and Gladys have spent days in those old London shops.”
“A real Denby digger—eh?” smiled the doctor.
“Yes. And I’ve been so glad she was interested—like her father.”
“But you don’t mean you’re going to give your daughter up,” cried Mrs. Thayer, aghast, “and not go yourself!”
“You couldn’t! Besides, as if Burke would stand for that,” cut in the doctor.
“But he isn’t going to know she is his daughter,” smiled Helen.
“Not know she is his daughter!” echoed two voices, in stupefaction.
“No—not yet. She’ll be his private secretary. That is all. I’m relying on you to—er—apply for the situation for her.” Helen’s eyes were merry.
“Oh, nonsense! This is too absurd for words,” spluttered the doctor.
“I don’t think so.”
“His own daughter writing his letters for him, and living with him day by day, and he not to know it? Bosh! Sounds like a plot from a shilling shocker!”
“Does it? Well, I ought not to mind that, ought I?—you know ‘twas a book in the first place that set me to making myself ‘swell’ and ‘grand,’ sir.” In Helen’s eyes was still twinkling mischief.
“Oh, but, my dear,” remonstrated Mrs. Thayer with genuine concern. “I do think this is impossible.”
The expression on Helen Denby’s face changed instantly. Her eyes grew very grave, but luminously tender. Her lips trembled a little.
“People, dear people, if you’ll listen just a minute I think I can convince you,” she begged. “I have it all planned out. Betty and I will go to Dalton and find a quiet little home somewhere. Oh, I shall keep well out of sight—never fear,” she nodded, in reply to the quick doubt in the doctor’s eyes. “Betty shall go every morning to her father’s house, and—I’m not afraid of Betty. He will love her. He can’t help it. And he will see how dear and sweet and good she is. Then, by and by, he shall know that she is his—his very own.”
“But—but Betty herself! Can she act her part in this remarkable scheme?” demanded the doctor.
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