“How do you know?” she smiled at him.
“Why, my girl, I know every shadow that crosses your dear heart.”
“Do I wear my heart on my sleeve, then?”
“You don’t have to, for me to see it. I recognize the signs from your face, your manner, your voice—your whole being is trembling with some fear or some deeply-rooted grief. So tell me all about it.”
And Maida told. Not the last horrible threat that Samuel Appleby had told her alone, but the state of things as Appleby had presented it to Daniel Wheeler himself.
“And so you see, Jeff, it’s a deadlock. Father won’t vote for young Sam—I don’t mean only vote, but throw all his influence—and that means a lot—on Sam’s side. And if he doesn’t, Mr. Appleby won’t get him pardoned—you know we hoped he would this year——”
“Yes, dear; it would mean so much to us.”
“Yes, and to dad and mother, too. Well, there’s no hope of that, unless father throws himself heart and soul into the Appleby campaign.”
“And he won’t do that?”
“Of course not. He couldn’t, Jeff. He’d have to subscribe to what he doesn’t believe in—practically subscribe to a lie. And you know father——”