as the Past, that we must realize _is_--the Past. Of course, you know
what has been learned--something about what happened here. Now, I want
to tell you of my plans. I want, if possible, to keep things quiet--Oh,
it's only comparatively speaking--but we can avoid a great deal of
publicity, if you will let me handle the matter. It's for your sake, and
I'm sure your father would desire it--and--pardon me, if I presume on
grounds I'm not supposed to know anything of--but for Dorothy's, too.
Dorothy may have to face bereavement too. Publicity, details, the nine
days' wonder--it's all unpleasant, distressing. I have arranged to see
the District Attorney to-morrow night. He can, if he will, materially
aid us. This poor insane woman has delusions that it would be painful
for you to even know. It would certainly be most unfortunate if she were
tried or examined in public. I'd rather you didn't come--did not even
see her at any time. Will you trust me? You have a perfect right to do
otherwise, I know--but--will you believe me when I say I've given this
my best thought, and I believe I am giving you the best advice?"

He stood very erect, speaking with formality, with a certainly stilted,
"learned by rote" manner, very different from his usual fiery
utterances.

Teddy respected his mood and bowed with courtly deference. "You were my
father's friend," he said. "You were the last to be with him. I know you
are giving me the wisest advice a wise man can give, and I accept it
gratefully, Mr. Gard--for myself, and father and for Dorothy, too."

The older man held out his hand. Their clasp was strong and responsive.
There were tears in Teddy's eyes, and he turned his head away quickly.

"Then," said Gard briskly, "it is understood. You also know and realize