"Miss Fairchild," he began, with a concentration of purpose, the unexpectedness of which made her turn to him with a little start, "I have endeavored to reassure you regarding my call here this morning, and I wish to repeat that there is no reason why you should feel any alarm. But what I have to say will distress you; it will fill you with anxiety, for I know you are quick to feel for your friends and those dear to you, and that you feel strongly. Yet, if you will hear me out—if you will lend me your aid—if we put our two heads together, I am confident we can evolve some sort of plan that will work for the good of more than one person in whom you are interested." He looked at her intently while speaking, and before he had done her cheeks went white again; her eyes dropped, and the slim fingers began plucking at a spray of honeysuckle. But her voice was steady when she rejoined:
"I suppose your coming here has to do with my brother," she said without looking up,—"with Clay?"
"Primarily, yes. But my errand involves a deal more.... However, before I begin I want to make a confession. When I started here it was with a determination to resort to every method known to my calling to secure the information I am seeking; to bully you if necessary; to frighten you if I could—in short, to use every art and device that expediency might justify. Those methods are often cruel; they are not always honest—but in my calling you have to meet craft with craft, Miss Fairchild; cunning with cunning—and they are not such as you would associate with the word 'gentleman.'"
"And now?" She looked at him inquiringly.
"Well, now—I have considerably revised that determination."
"Thank you." Once more her face was illumined by the winning smile.
"No, no; don't thank me; thank yourself. If more of the people who are tangled up in this business considered it less a game the object of which is to conceal as much as possible, and, instead, exercised a grain or two of common sense, we might have been out of the woods before this. As it is—" He paused and frowned at the denuded spray of honeysuckle.
"Well?" queried Charlotte, looking up once more and casting the spray from her. He faced her abruptly.
"Well," he went on, "as it is, there are one or two individuals who are well on the way to losing themselves entirely—that is, if some well-intentioned person doesn't step in and show them the road out." Again he paused.
"And so you have come to me?" she asked.