“I’m very glad to see you,” answered Farron. “Sit down, and tell me the story as you see it from the beginning.”
It was a comfort to tell the story at last to an expert. Wayne, who had been trying for twenty-four hours to explain what underwriting meant, what were the responsibilities of brokers in such matters, what was the function of such a report as his, felt as if he had suddenly groped his way out of a fog as he talked, with hardly an interruption but a nod or a lightening eye from Farron. He spoke of Benson. “I know the man,” said Farron; of Honaton, “He was in my office once.” Wayne told how Mathilde, and then he himself, had tried to inform Mrs. Farron of the definiteness of their plans to be married.
“How long has this been going on?” Farron asked.
“At least ten days.”
Farron nodded. Then Wayne told of the discovery of the proof at the printer’s and his hurried meeting in the park to tell Mathilde. Here Farron stopped him suddenly.
“What was it kept you from going through with it just the same?”
“You’re the first person who has asked me that,” answered Pete.
“Perhaps you did not even think of such a thing?”
“No one could help thinking of it who saw her there—”
“And you didn’t do it?”