“Wait, Jeff. We mustn’t be selfish. I’m her mother, and much as I’d hate to see her marry Keefe, I’d far prefer it—for her sake, than——”
“No! a thousand times, no! Why, I won’t give her up! Keefe is a fine man—I’ve nothing against him—but she’s my Maida—my own little sweetheart——”
“And for that reason—for your own sake—you’re going to claim her?”
“It isn’t only for my own sake”—Jeff spoke more humbly; “but I know—I know how she loves me. To let her marry another would be to do her a grievous wrong——”
“Not if she wants to—look there!”
Mrs. Wheeler pointed from the window, and they saw Maida walking across the lawn in deep and earnest conversation with Curtis Keefe. He was tall and handsome and the deferential air and courteous attitude all spoke in his favor. Maida was apparently listening with interest to his talk, and they went on slowly toward the old sycamore and sat down on the bench beneath it.
“Our trysting-place!” Jeffrey murmured, his eyes fastened on the pair.
It did not require over-close observation to see that Maida was listening willingly to Keefe. Nor was there room for doubt that he was saying something that pleased her. She was brighter and more cheerful than she had been for days.
“You see,” said Sara Wheeler, sadly. “And he is a worth-while man. Mr. Appleby thought very highly of him.”
“I don’t!” said Allen, briefly, and unable to stand any more, he left the room.