Dawn by Eleanor Porter (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

"Come in, come in! My, but I'm glad to see you!" exclaimed Susanfervently, fairly pulling her visitor into the house. "Now tell meeverything—-every single thing."

"Why, there isn't much to tell, Susan. Mr. Keith is about the same,and—"

"No, no, I mean—about YOU" interrupted Susan, motioning the girl to achair, and drawing her own chair nearer. "About your bein' in Hinsdalean' knowin' us, an' all that, an' his finding it out."

"Oh, THAT!" The color flew instantly into Miss Dorothy's cheeks. "Thenhe's—he's written you?"

"Written us! I should say he had! An' he wants to know why we hain'ttold him we know you. An', lan' sakes, Miss Dorothy, what can we tellhim?"

"I—I don't know, Susan."

"But how'd you get in such a mess? How'd he find out to begin with?"demanded the woman.

Miss Dorothy drew a long sigh. "Oh, it was my fault, of course. I—forgot. Still, it's a wonder I hadn't forgotten before. You see,inadvertently, I happened to drop a word about Mr. Burton. 'Do youknow my dad?' he burst out. Then he asked another and anotherquestion. Of course, I saw right away that I must turn it off as if Isupposed he'd known it all the time. It wouldn't do to make a secretof it and act embarrassed because he'd found it out, for of coursethen he'd suspect something wrong right away."

"Yes, yes, I s'pose so," admitted Susan worriedly. "But, lan' sakes,look at us! What are we goin' to say? Now he wants to know why wehain't told him about knowin' you."

"I don't know, Susan, I don't know." The girl shook her head andcaught her breath a bit convulsively. "Of course, when I first let itgo that I was 'Miss Stewart,' I never realized where it was going tolead, nor how—how hard it might be to keep it up. I've been expectingevery day he'd find out, from some one there. But he hasn't—yet. Ofcourse, Aunt Hattie, who keeps house for father, is in the secret, andSHE'D never give it away. Most of the patients don't know much aboutme, anyway. You see, I've never been there much. They just knowvaguely of 'the doctor's daughter,' and they just naturally call her'Miss Stewart.'"

"Yes, yes, I see, I see," nodded Susan, again still worriedly. "Butwhat I'm thinkin' of is US, Miss Dorothy. How are we goin' to get'round not mentionin' you all this time, without his findin' out whoyou be an' demandin' a full exposition of the whole affair. Say, looka-here, would it be—be very bad if he DID find out you was DorothyParkman?"

"I'm afraid—it would be, Susan." The girl spoke slowly, a bitunsteadily. She had gone a little white at the question.

"Has he SAID anything?"

"Nothing, only he—When we were talking that day, and he was flingingout those questions one after another, about Hinsdale, and what I knewof it, he—he asked if I knew Dorothy Parkman."

"Miss Dorothy, he didn't!"

"But he did. It was awful, Susan. I felt like—like—"

"Of course you did," interposed Susan, her face all sympathy, "a-sailin' under false premises like that, an' when you were perfectlyinnocuous, too, of any sinfulness, an' was jest doing it for his bestgood an' peace of mind. Lan' sakes, what a prediction to be in! WhatDID you say?"

"Why, I said yes, of course. I had to say yes. And I tried to turn itoff right away, and not talk any more about it. But that was easy,anyway, for—for Mr. Keith himself dropped it. But I knew, by the wayhe looked, and said 'yes, I know her, too,' in that quiet, stern wayof his, that—that I'd better not let him find out I was she—not if Iwanted to—to stay in the room," she finished, laughing a littlehysterically.

"Lan' sakes, you don't say!" frowned Susan.

"Yes; and so that's what makes me know that whatever you do, youmustn't let him know that I am Dorothy Parkman," cried the girlfeverishly; "not now—not until he's seen the Paris doctor, forthere's no knowing what he'd do. He'd be so angry, you see. He'd neverforgive me, for on top of all the rest is the deceit—that I've beenwith him all these different times, and let him call me 'MissStewart.'"

"But how can we do that?" demanded Susan.

"Why, just turn it off lightly. Say, of course, you know me; and seemsurprised that you never happened to mention it before. Tell him, oh,yes, I come quite often to tell you and Mr. Burton how he's gettingalong, and all that. Just make nothing of it—take it as a matter ofcourse, not worth mentioning. See? Then go on and talk about somethingelse. That'll fix it all right, I'm sure, Susan."

"Hm-m; maybe so, an' then again maybe not," observed Susan, withfrowning doubt. "As I was tellin' Mr. Burton this mornin' we've got tobe 'specially careful about Keith jest now. It's the mosthypercritical time there can be—with him waitin' to see that bigdoctor, an' all—an' he mustn't be upset, no matter what happens, norhow many white lies we have to prognosticate here at home."

"I guess that's so, Susan." Miss Dorothy's eyes were twinkling now.

"And, by the way, where is Mr. Burton? I haven't seen him yet."

"He ain't here."

"You don't mean he has gone out of town?" The girl had looked up insurprise at the crisp terseness of Susan's reply.

"Oh, no, he's—in Hinsdale."

"Painting any new pictures these days?" Miss Dorothy was on her feetto go. She asked the question plainly not for information, but to fillthe embarrassing pause that Susan's second reply had brought to theconversation.

"No, he ain't," spoke up Susan with a vehemence as disconcerting as itwas sudden. "He ain't paintin' nothin', an' he ain't drawin' nothin'neither—only molasses an' vinegar an' kerosene. He's clerkin' down toMcGuire's grocery store, if you want to know. That's where he is."

"Why—SUSAN!"

"Yes, I know. You don't have to say nothin', Miss Dorothy. Besides, Iwouldn't let you say it if you did. I won't let nobody say it but me.But I will say this much. When folks has set one foot in the cemetery,an' a lame one at that, an' can't see