Vick was very much upset by
the thought of her daughter's picture appearing in the paper, and
could not think of allowing them to use it.
The elder man bowed courteously. "I quite understand, Madam. We
would not dream of using the picture if it would give pain to the
unhappy mother. Please assure her that we respect her wishes. Thank
you for your kindness. We must be on our way back to town. Good
night, Madam."
"These reporters are awful nuisances," remarked Courtney as the
front door closed behind the two men. "Always butting in where
they're not wanted."
"They seemed very nice," observed the woman.
"I've never seen one that wasn't a sneak," said he, raising his
voice a little. The whiskey was having its effect.
Mrs. Vick and Alix entered the room together. The former came
straight toward the young man. Her rather heavy face was white and
drawn, but her eyes were wide and bright with anxiety. There was
no trace of tears. He knew there would be no scene, no hysterics.
Lucinda Vick was made of stern, heroic stuff. As he advanced,
holding out his hands, he noticed that she was fully dressed. She
could be ready at a moment's notice to go to her daughter.
"Oh, Courtney!" she cried, and a little spasm of pain convulsed
her face for a fleeting second or two. Her voice was husky, tight
with strain.
He took her cold, trembling hands in his.
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