'You know that of your own knowledge?'
'Yes, I do.'
Duff leaned back and looked dreamy. His long bones were folded in a low chair, and his laiees came high. 'Tell me, what difference did the father's death make to the Whitlock household?'
'A tremendous difference. He was the life of it. He held Susan Innes Whitlock and the boy there. When he died, they left. After that the three sisters became more and more isolated. It was Stephen who brought people into that house.'
'Any financial difference?'
'Why, not much.' The doctor looked surprised. 'They were well off. Isabel had every care. Specialists and nurses, just as Gertrude had. There was no difference.'
'But the girls had control Was Stephen generous with them while he lived?'
'Oh, very. They had everything. He took them abroad. I know they had allowances.'
'Was he strict about the allowances or were they unlimited, in effect?'
'I don't know. I remember the girls talked as if he were strict. We always thought it was a way of boasting.'
'It may have been,' said Duff. 'Yes, Now tell me, when did Maud lose her hearing?'
'Gradually, I believe,' the doctor said. 'But that was long after I stopped going there, after my marriage.'
'After her father's death?'
'I believe so. I'm sure it was gradual.'
'No accident or sudden disease?'
'No. Just a gradual loss. I never attended her, of course.'
'Then you can't tell me,' said Duff, 'whether she is totally deaf or simply more or less hard of hearing?'
'I can't,' said the doctor.
'Has her voice changed?'
'No.'
'It hasn't? I was under the impression that a deaf person's voice came to be a monotone. Because he can't hear himself.'
'Her voice is pretty darned monotonous,' Fred said. 'She croaks.'
'Yes, I know,' said the doctor impatiently, 'but Maud has a . . . er . . . defect. Trouble there, her vocal cords. Her voice has always been rather harsh and deep and monotonous, too.'
'How very interesting,' murmured Dxiff. 'It's a real disability, is it?'
'Oh, yes. I used to try to help her.'
'I see,' said Duff. 'I see.'
'Does it run in the family?' asked Fred suddenly.
'Eh?'
'Because Isabel's voice is funny, too.'
'Oh, yes, Isabel. A result of her nervous shock. So they say. A slight paralysis there.'
'I thought so,' said Fred. 'She whines, kind of.'
'Is there anything the matter with Gertrude's voice?' demanded Duff. He looked alert. He didn't move, but there was a gluiting eagerness in his eye.
'Guess not,' said Fred.
'Rather a pleasant voice, in fact,' the doctor said with relief, as if it were good to be able to speak admiringly of a Whidock. 'Very pleasant. She used to sing a little. I don't suppose she sings any more.'
'Never heard her sing out,' said Fred, 'but her voice is O.K.'
Duff bowed his head in thought. He was limp in the chair, and his hands, resting palms down on either chair arm, grasped nothing and did not twitch. Concentration surrounded him like a cloud. He was gone from the doctor's sitting room. He was absent, and it was important not to bring him back. Fred and the doctor felt that. They dared not disturb him. His thinking was a presence in the room and kept them silent.
Finally he looked up and smiled. 'I can see Gertrude,' he said, 'the eldest princess, with her drawing-room accomplishments, her china painting, her singing, her proper elegance. But what did Maud do?'
'Do?' said the doctor. 'Why, I don't know that Maud
did any of those things. Maud was . . . well, rather more the hoyden. She had no accomplishments.'
'Bet she had a hammock,' Fred said.
The doctor looked at him queerly. 'Yes,' he said.
'And Isabel?'
'Let me see. Isabel was always busy. But I'm sure I can't tell you . . . She collected stamps at one time. It seems to me that she had quick enthusiasms that didn't last.'
