“I hope you think the same of me, Mr. Appleby.”
“I do, Keefe. More, I trust you with my most confidential matters. I’ll own I want this business here to come out in my favor. I can’t push Wheeler too hard—so I ask your help. But, as I hinted, I’ve one rod yet in pickle. If necessary, I’ll use it, but I’d rather not.”
“Of course I hope you won’t have to, but, I’ll admit I don’t see much chance of succeeding with the present outlook.”
“To-morrow morning will tell. If we can’t work the thing through by noon, say—I’ll spring my last trap. Good-night, Keefe.”
“Good-night, Mr. Appleby.”
Without apparent coercion the morning hours brought about a cozy session on the south veranda with Miss Lane and Daniel Wheeler in attendance, while at the same time, Keefe and Maida wandered over the beautiful park of the estate.
Keefe had gently guided the conversation into confidential channels, and when he ventured to sympathize with the girl in regard to her father’s deprivation he was surprised at her ready acceptance of it.
“Oh, you know, don’t you, Mr. Keefe!” she exclaimed. “But you don’t know all it means to me. You see”—she blushed but went steadily on—“you see, I’m engaged to—to a man I adore. And——”
“Don’t tell me if you’d rather not,” he murmured.
“No, it’s a relief to tell—and, somehow—you seem so wise and strong——”