“If you were inclined to take us further into your confidence, Mr. Appleby,” Keefe began, and the older man interrupted:
“That’s just what I propose to do. The time has come for it. Perhaps if you both know the situation you may work more intelligently.”
“Sure we could!” exclaimed Genevieve. She was leaning forward in her chair, clasping her knees, her pretty evening frock disclosing her babyishly soft neck and arms; but without a trace of self-consciousness, she thought only of the subject they were discussing.
“There’s something queer,” she went on. “I can’t see through it. Why does Mr. Wheeler act so polite most of the time, and then do some outrageous thing, like——”
“Like what?”
“Like refusing to cross the room—or—why, he declined point-blank to go with me to the north arbor, yet was perfectly willing to take me to the Japanese tea-house!”
“That’s just the point of the whole thing,” said Appleby, seriously; “here’s the explanation in a nutshell. Years ago, Daniel Wheeler was pardoned for a crime he had committed——”
“He did commit it, then?” interrupted Keefe.
“He was tried and convicted. He was sentenced. And I, being governor at the time, pardoned him on the one condition, that he never again set foot inside the boundaries of the State of Massachusetts.”
“Whee!” exclaimed Genevieve; “never go to Boston!”