Beatrice blushed and laughed. “Oh, I made an idiot of myself. I thought he was hanging back because he was awed—because father was rich—and all that.”
Peter narrowed his eyelids and screwed up his mouth in an attempt to look acute. “He’s working some sly dodge. Mark my word, some sly dodge.” And he wagged his head wisely.
“I wish he were!” sighed Beatrice. “Because he liked me I thought he—cared. You see, Peter, I’m telling you everything. Will you do what I ask?”
Peter settled deeper in his chair. “I’d like to—I want to—but—” At the beginnings of disappointment and disdain in her expression he straightened, flushed. “Yes, by gad, I will do it!”
“Why did you hesitate?”
“I didn’t.”
Beatrice looked at him doubtfully; suddenly she realized. “You fear father’ll find out you did it? I hadn’t thought of that. No—you mustn’t, Hanky. I’ll get some one else.”
“You’ve got to let me do it,” insisted he. “Anyone who didn’t know all the circumstances would make a mess of it. I want to do it. And it isn’t much of a risk.”
The event was that she yielded. Toward noon the next day he telephoned that he had the bonds—had paid forty-one thousand dollars for them—exactly. “I’ve got them here at my house. I can bring them to you this afternoon if you like.”
“Do,” said Beatrice.