"I should let them alone."
"Not young Wappinger!"
"What harm is he doing? I admit that the present situation has its foolish aspects from your point of view and mine; but I can think of things a great deal worse. At least you know there is nothing clandestine going on; and young people who have the virtue of being open have the very first quality of all. If you let them alone—or leave them to sympathetic management—you will probably find that they will outgrow the whole thing, as children outgrow an inordinate love of sweets."
There was a brief pause, during which he stood looking down at her, a smile something like that of amusement hovering about his lips.
"So that, in your judgment," he began again, "the whole thing resolves itself into a matter of discretion. But now—if you'll pardon me for asking anything so blunt—how am I to know that you would be discreet?"
For an instant she lifted her eyes to his, as if begging to be spared the reply.
"If it's not a fair question—" he began.
"It is a fair question," she admitted; "only it's one I find difficult to answer. If it wasn't important—urgently important—that I should obtain work, I should prefer not to answer it at all. I must tell you that I haven't always been discreet. I've had to learn discretion—by bitter lessons."
"I'm not asking about the past," he broke in, hastily, "but about the future."
"About the future one cannot say; one can only try."