"No obligation. A hope perhaps." He was smiling with the gayest good humor. "But not the kind of hope that ever becomes a disagreeable demand for payment."
She seated herself, her hands in her lap, her eyes down—a lovely picture of pensive repose. He waited patiently, feasting his senses upon her delicate, aromatic loveliness. At last she said:
"I accept."
He had anticipated an argument. This promptness took him by surprise. He felt called upon to explain, to excuse her acceptance. "I am taking a little flyer—making a gamble," said he. "Your father may turn up nothing of commercial value. Again the company may pay big——"
She gave him a long look through half-closed eyes, a queer smile flitting round her lips. "I understand perfectly why you are doing it," she said. "Do you understand why I am accepting?"
"Why should you refuse?" rejoined he. "It is a good business prop——"
"You know very well why I should refuse. But—" She gave a quiet laugh of experience; it made him feel that she was making a fool of him—"I shall not refuse. I am able to take care of myself. And I want father to have his chance. Of course, I shan't explain to him." She gave him a mischievous glance. "And I don't think you will."
He contrived to cover his anger, doubt, chagrin, general feeling of having been outwitted. "No, I shan't tell him," laughed he. "You are making a great fool of me."
"Do you want to back out?"
What audacity! He hesitated—did not dare. Her indifference to him—her personal, her physical indifference gave her the mastery. His teeth clenched and his passion blazed in his eyes as he said: "No—you witch! I'll see it through."