“No! That is, I—ah—yes, I may say I have had some business relations with him,” responded Gashwiler rising.
“Won't you stay?” she added pleadingly. “Do!”
Mr. Gashwiler's prudence always got the better of his gallantry. “Not now,” he responded in some nervousness. “Perhaps I had better go now, in view of what you have just said about gossip. You need not mention my name to this-er—this—Mr. Wiles.” And with one eye on the door, and an awkward dash of his lips at the lady's fingers, he withdrew.
There was no introductory formula to Mr. Wiles's interview. He dashed at once in medias res. “Gashwiler knows a woman that, he says, can help us against that Spanish girl who is coming here with proofs, prettiness, fascination, and what not! You must find her out.”
“Why?” asked the lady laughingly.
“Because I don't trust that Gashwiler. A woman with a pretty face and an ounce of brains could sell him out; aye, and US with him.”
“Oh, say TWO ounces of brains. Mr. Wiles, Mr. Gashwiler is no fool.”
“Possibly, except when your sex is concerned, and it is very likely that the woman is his superior.”
“I should think so,” said Mrs. Hopkinson with a mischievous look.
“Ah, you know her, then?”