Mary Roberts Rinehart

“ Walter Wheeler thought he knew what was coming, and he had well in mind what he was going to say. He had thought it over, pacing the floor alone, with the dog at his heels. He would say:
“I like and respect you, Livingstone. If you're worrying about what these damned gossips say, let's call it a day and forget it. I know a man when I see one, and if it's all right with Elizabeth it's all right with me.”
Things, however, did not turn out just that way. Dick came in, grave and clearly preoccupied, and the first thing he said was:
“I have a story to tell you, Mr. Wheeler. ”

“ Dick faced him squarely.
“There is. I didn't intend it. In fact, I was trying to keep away from her. I didn't mean to speak to her until I'd cleared things up. But it happened anyhow; I suppose the way those things always happen.”
It was Walter Wheeler's own decision, finally, that he go to Norada with Dick as soon as David could be safely left. It was the letter which influenced him. Up to that he had viewed the situation with a certain detachment; now he saw that it threatened the peace of two households. ”

“ The result of some indecision was finally that Elizabeth should not be told anything until they were ready to tell it all. And in the end a certain resentment that she had become involved in an unhappy situation died in Walter Wheeler before Dick's white face and sunken eyes.
At ten o'clock the house-door opened and closed, and Walter Wheeler got up and went out into the hall.
“Go on upstairs, Margaret,” he said to his wife. “I've got a visitor.” He did not look at Elizabeth. “You settle down and be comfortable,” he added, “and I'll be up before long. Where's Jim?” ”