“Why did you not speak of it before?”
The look of animation died out of the girl's face. “Why should I?” she said listlessly. “I did not know of these reports then. He was nothing more to us. You wouldn't have cared to see him again.” She rose, smoothed out her skirt and stood looking at her father. “There is one thing, of course, that you'll do at once.”
Her voice had changed so oddly that he said quickly: “What's that?”
“Call Grant off the scent. He'll only frighten or exasperate your game, and that's what you don't want.”
Her voice was as imperious as it had been previously listless. And it was the first time he had ever known her to use slang.
It seemed as startling as if it had fallen from the marble lips above him.
“But I've promised him that we should go together to my lawyer to-morrow, and begin a suit against the proprietors of the 'Clarion.'”
“Do nothing of the kind. Get rid of Grant's assistance in this matter; and see the 'Clarion' proprietor yourself. What sort of a man is he? Can you invite him to your house?”
“I have never seen him; I believe he lives at San Jose. He is a wealthy man and a large land owner there. You understand that after the first article appeared in his paper, and I knew that he had employed your brother—although Grant says that he had nothing to do with it and left Fletcher on account of it—I could have no intercourse with him. Even if I invited him he would not come.”
“He MUST come. Leave it to ME.” She stopped and resumed her former impassive manner. “I had something to say to you too, father. Mr. Shipley proposed to me the day we went to San Mateo.”