The Road to Understanding Part 54

"But maybe you were--mistaken."

"Mistaken? Me? Not much! I don't furgit faces. You ask yer mother if she don't remember Mis' Cobb. Didn't I live right on the same floor with her fur months? Hain't yer mother ever told ye she lived here long ago?"

Betty nodded dumbly, miserably.

"Well, I lived next to her, and I knew the whole thing--how she got the letter tellin' her ter go, an' the money Burke Denby sent her--"

"Letter! Money! You mean he wrote her to--go--away? He _paid_ her?" The girl had become suddenly galvanized into blazing anger.

"Sure! That's what I'm tellin' ye. An' yer mother went. I tried ter stop her. I told her ter go straight up ter them Denbys an' demand her rights--an' _your_ rights. But she wouldn't. She hadn't a mite o' s.p.u.n.k.

Just because he was ashamed of her she--"

"Ashamed of her! _Ashamed_ of my mother!"--if but Helen Denby could have seen the flash in Betty's eyes!

"Sure! She wa'n't so tony, an' her folks wa'n't grand like his, ye know.

That's why old Denby objected ter the marriage in the first place. But, say, didn't you know any of this I'm tellin' ye? Jiminy! but it does seem queer ter be tellin' ye yer own family secrets like this--an' you here workin' in his very home, an' not knowin' it, too. If that ain't the limit--like a regular story-book! Now, I ain't never one ter b.u.t.t in where 'tain't none of my affairs, but I've got ter say this. You're a Denby, an' ought ter have some s.p.u.n.k; an' if I was you I'd brace right up an'-- Here, don't ye want yer magazine? What are ye goin' ter do?"

But the girl was already halfway across the waiting-room.

If Betty's thoughts and emotions had been in a tumult on the way to the station, they were in a veritable chaos on the return trip. She did not go home. She turned her steps toward the Denby Mansion; and because she knew she could not possibly sit still, she walked all the way.

So this was the meaning of it--the black veil daytimes, the walks only at night, the nervous restlessness, the unhappiness. Her mother _had_ had something to conceal, something to fear. Poor mother--dear mother--how she must have suffered!

But why, _why_ had she come back here and put her into that man's home?

And why had she told her always how fine and n.o.ble and splendid her father was. Fine! n.o.ble! Splendid, indeed! Still, it was like mother,--dear mother,--always so sweet and gentle, always seeing the good in everything and everybody! But why had she put her there--in that man's house? How could she have done it?

And Burke Denby himself--did he know? Did he suspect that she was his daughter? Adopt her, indeed! Was _that_ the way he thought he could pay her mother back for all those years? And the grief and the hurt and the mortification--where did they come in? Ashamed of her! _Ashamed of her, indeed!_ Why, her little finger was as much finer and n.o.bler and-- But just wait till she saw him, that was all!

Like the overwrought, half-beside-herself young hurricane of wrathfulness that she was, Betty burst into the library at Denby House a few minutes later.

The very sight of her face brought the man to his feet.

"Why, Betty, what's the matter? Where's your mother? Couldn't she come?

What is the matter?"

"Come? No, she didn't come. She'll never come--never!"

Before the blazing wrath in the young eyes the man fell back limply.

"Why, Betty, didn't you tell her--"

"I've told her nothing. I haven't seen her," cut in the girl crisply.

"But I've seen somebody else. I know now--everything!"

From sheer stupefaction the man laughed.

"Aren't we getting a little--theatrical, my child?" he murmured mildly.

"You needn't call me that. I refuse to recognize the relations.h.i.+p," she flamed. "Perhaps we are getting theatrical--that woman said it was like a story-book. And perhaps you thought you could wipe it all out by adopting me. Adopting me, indeed! As if I'd let you! I can tell you it isn't going to _end_ like a story-book, with father and mother and daughter--'and they all lived happily ever after'--because I won't let it!"

"What do you mean by that?" The man's face had grown suddenly very white.

Betty fixed searching, accusing eyes on his countenance.

"Are you trying to make me think you don't know I'm your daughter; that--"

"Betty! Are you really, really--my little Betty?"

At the joyous cry and the eagerly outstretched arms Betty shrank back.

"Then you _didn't_ know--that?"

"No, no! Oh, Betty, Betty, is it true? Then it'll all be right now. Oh, Betty, I'm so glad," he choked. "My little girl! Won't you--come to me?"

She shook her head and retreated still farther out of his reach. Her eyes still blazed angrily.

"Betty, dear, hear me! I don't know-- I don't understand. It's all too wonderful--to have it come--_now_. Once, for a little minute, the wild thought came to me that you might be. But, Betty, you yourself told me your father was--dead!"

"And so he is--to me," sobbed Betty. "You aren't my father. My father was good and true and n.o.ble and--you--"

"And your mother _told_ you that?" breathed the man, brokenly. "Betty, I--I-- Where is she? Is she there--at home--now? I want to--see her!"

"I shan't let you see her." Betty had blazed again into unreasoning wrath. "You don't deserve it. You told her you were ashamed of her.

_Ashamed of her!_ And she's the best and the loveliest and dearest mother in the world! She's as much above and beyond anything you--you-- _Why_ she let me come to you I don't know. I can't think why she did it.

But now I--I--"

"Betty, if you'll only let me explain--"

But the great hall door had banged shut. Betty had gone.

Betty took a car to her own home. She was too weak and spent to walk.

It was a very white, shaken Betty that climbed the stairs to the little apartment a short time later.

"Why, Betty, darling!" exclaimed her mother, hurrying forward. "You are ill! Are you ill?"

With utter weariness Betty dropped into a chair.

"Mother, why didn't you tell me?" she asked dully, heartbrokenly. "Why did you let me come here and go to that house day after day and not know--anything?"

"Why, what--what do you mean?" All the color had drained from Helen Denby's face.

"Did you ever know a Mrs. Cobb?"

"That woman! Betty, she hasn't--has she been--talking--to you?"

Betty nodded wearily.