“When?”
“To-morrow.”
“And I’ll go with you.”
“No,” said I firmly. “Either I manage this affair alone or I have nothing to do with it.”
“But, Godfrey, there are so many things about these people that you don’t understand. And you——”
“I understand the essential thing,” said I. “And that is their mania for money.”
She was on the verge of hysteria—afraid I would not go, afraid of what I would do if I did go. “But they have to be handled carefully,” she urged. “If you put them in a position where their pride won’t let them take the—the money——”
“Trust me,” said I. “Go to bed, sleep soundly, and trust me.”
I stood. She suddenly flung herself against my breast and began to sob on my shoulder. “You are hard and cold,” she said. “You have no sympathy with me—no feeling for anything but business. But somehow—in spite of it all—I have such a sense of your strength and your honesty.”
I laughed rather awkwardly, patted her shoulder, helped her to a chair. “There are times when a coarse, common American business man of a husband has his uses—and advantages,” I said lightly. “I’ll telegraph you how things are going.”