“You seem to forget that I may be openly accused of crime at any moment. And a crime that hits you pretty closely.”
“Don’t say such things, dear. Neither you nor any of your people are responsible for the dreadful thing that happened to father—or, if you are, I never want to know it. And I do want you, Maida dear—so much——”
“Hush, Sam; I won’t listen to anything like that from you.”
“Not now, but later on,” he urged. “Tell me that I may come back, Maida dear.”
“Of course you may come here, whenever you like, but I hold out no hope of the sort you ask for.”
“I shall hope all the same. I’d die if I didn’t! Good-bye, Maida, for this time.”
He went away to the train, and later, came Keefe and Genevieve Lane.
“Oh,” the girl cried, “I’m so glad to be back here again, Maida. My, but you’re prettier than ever! If you’d only touch up those pale cheeks—just a little bit—here, let me——”
She opened her ever-ready vanity box, and was about to apply a touch of rouge, but Maida sprang away from her.
“No, no, Genevieve, I never use it.”