“If you marry my son, I rather think your father will lend his aid—at least in some few matters, without urging. But he shall not be urged beyond his wishes, rest assured of that. In a word, Maida, all that you want or desire shall be yours except your choice of a husband. And I’ll wager that inside of a year, you’ll be wondering what you ever saw in young Allen, and rejoicing that you are the wife of the governor instead!”
“I can’t do it—oh, I can’t! And, then, too, there’s Mr. Keefe—and the heirship!”
“Mr. Keefe and the airship!” exclaimed Curtis Keefe himself, as he came round the corner and met them face to face. “Am I to go up in an airship? And when?”
Appleby flashed a quick glance at Maida, which she rightly interpreted to mean to let Keefe rest unenlightened as to his error.
“You’re not the Mr. Keefe we meant,” said Appleby, smiling at his secretary. “There are others.”
And then Appleby walked away, feeling his best plan was to let Maida think things over.
“What Keefe is going up in an airship?” Curt insisted, his curiosity aroused.
“I don’t know,” said Maida, listlessly. “Mr. Appleby was telling me some airship yarn. I didn’t half listen. I—I can’t bear that man!”
“I can’t blame you for that, Miss Wheeler. But we’re going away to-morrow, and he’ll be out of your way.”
“No; he has me in a trap. He has arranged it so—oh, what am I saying!”