“You ought to have known,” pursued her father, “that I would not have told you I would ruin Wade unless it was impossible for him to escape. I have put his investments in such a position that I can wipe them out or not. What I’ll do will depend on whether you are foolish or sensible.”
She glanced up for an instant. Then he was not so guilty as she had thought—that is, perhaps he was not.
“You say you didn’t intend to break the engagement,” he went on. “Why, then, did you come here to-night?”
“Because you had made it impossible for me to let him know in any other way.”
“You could have written,” rejoined he; the familiar note of suspicion, of the keen mind on the scent for the hidden truth was strong in his voice. “I’ve no control over the mails.”
“I didn’t want to put on paper—such a thing—about—my father.”
Richmond rowed in silence perhaps ten minutes. Then he said, and the note of affection was fully as strong in his voice as the note of suspicion had been before:
“Was that your only reason?”
“I thought so,” replied she. “I realize now that I also wanted to see him—to see if there was any hope.”
“You’d feel fine—wouldn’t you—if you made a fool of yourself with this man and then found out that he was already married?”