"Oh, I don't mean to discharge her. There's no reason why I should. She's useful to me. I shan't seem to know anything about this. But I wanted to ask you."
"I'm mighty pleased you did," said the man. "I'd have been—just what your friend calls me, if I'd sent her to get an engagement with you."
Colour stole into Marise's pale cheeks. She had been more interested in the subject of her secretary's connection with Garth than she had expected to be when bringing it up, and for a few minutes had actually forgotten the loathed burden on her heart.
"Let's say no more about Miss Marks!" the girl exclaimed. "My inviting you to call to-day had nothing to do with her. I only thought I'd—clear the air."
"Is it cleared now?" Garth wanted to know. "I hope it is. If not——"
"Oh, it is—quite!"
"Then you're ready to tell me the real thing you have to say?"
"Ye—es.... Only I...." She paused. Her lips had gone so dry that she could hardly speak. Her brain felt dry, too—desiccated. She had not thought it would be like this. Stage-fright—the worst attack of stage-fright she could remember—had not been worse. Yet she cared little or nothing for this man's opinion, she reminded herself, except as it concerned the plan. "I—it's very difficult."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he offered eagerly.
Marise caught at his words. "That's just it! There's a very big thing you can do to help."