Bancroft inexplicable. He did not see that just as a shrub pales and
dies away under the branches of a great tree, so a weak nature is apt to
be further enfeebled by association with a strong and self-contained
character. In those early days of loneliness and danger the Elder's
steadfastness and reticence had prevented him from affording to his wife
the sympathy which might have enabled her to overcome her fears. "He
never talked anythin' over with me," was the burden of her complaint.
Solitude had killed every power in her save vanity, and the form her
vanity took was peculiarly irritating to her husband, and in a lesser
degree to her daughter, for neither the Elder nor Loo would have founded
self-esteem on adventitious advantages of upbringing. Accordingly, Mrs.
Conklin was never more than an uncomfortable shadow in her own house,
and this evening her repeated attempts to bring about a semblance of
conversation only made the silence and preoccupation of the others
painfully evident.
As soon as the supper things were cleared away, Loo signalled to
Bancroft to accompany her to the stoop, where she asked him what had
happened.
"I insulted the Elder," he said, "and I told him I should leave his
house as soon as I could."
"You don't mean that!" she exclaimed. "You must take that back, George.
I'll speak to pappa; he'll mind me."
"No," he replied firmly; "speaking won't do any good. I've made up my
mind. It's impossible for me to stay here."
"Then you don't care for me. But that's not so. Say it's not so, George.
Say you'll stay--and I'll come down this evening after the old folks
have gone to bed, and sit with you. There!"
Of course the man yielded to a certain extent, the pleading face
upturned to his was too seductive to be denied, but he would not promise
more than that he would tell her what had taken place, and consult with
her.
Shortly after nine o'clock, as usual, Mr. and Mrs. Conklin retired. Half
an hour later Bancroft and Loo were seated together in the corner of the
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