I
am obliged to keep away from her just now, but from here I can
watch, I can see that she is well."
"You mean your daughter Beatrice," Tavernake said, calmly.
The professor trembled all over.
"You know!" he muttered.
"Yes, I know," Tavernake answered. "I have been able to be of
some slight assistance to your daughter Beatrice."
The professor grasped his hand.
"Yes, yes," he said, "Elizabeth is very angry with you because
you will not tell her where to find the little girl. You are
right, Mr. Tavernake. You must never tell her."
"I don't intend it," Tavernake declared.
"Say, this is a great evening for me!" the professor went on,
eagerly. "I found out by accident myself. I was at the bar and
I saw her come in with a lot of others."
"Why don't you go and speak to her?" Tavernake asked.
The professor shivered.
"There has been a disagreement," he explained. "Beatrice and
Elizabeth have quarreled. Mind you, Beatrice was right."
"Then why don't you go to her instead of staying with Elizabeth?"
Tavernake demanded, bluntly.
The professor temporarily collapsed. He drank heavily of the
whiskey and soda by his side, and answered gloomily.
"My young friend," he said, "Beatrice, when she left us, was
penniless. Mind you, Elizabeth is the one with brains. It is
Elizabeth who has the money. She has a strong will, too. She
keeps me there whether I will or not, she makes me do many things
--many things, surely--which I hate.
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