The young men shook hands with the friendliness of intimacy. Roger went with Peter to the door, where they shook hands again. As Peter was turning away he happened to glance down into the woods to the left. There, beating a hasty, not to say undignified retreat, was Daniel Richmond!
“Now what do you think of that?” cried Peter. “What the devil is he doing here?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Roger indifferently.
“No doubt he recognized me,” Peter went on. “He’s got me scared to a panic—for fear he’ll half ruin me—just out of a general insanity of meanness. If he asks you what I was doing here say I came to buy the picture. You don’t know how much trouble he could make for me.”
“I’ll probably not see him.”
“Do—for her sake, do,” urged Peter. “Be civil to him. Try to soften him down. You ought to do it for her—honest, you ought.”
“That’s true,” said Roger gravely.
Peter departed. Roger stayed on in the doorway. Presently Richmond reappeared, making his way slowly up the steep toward the studio. He arrived much out of breath, but contrived to put unmistakable politeness into his jerky tones as he gasped: “Good afternoon, Mr. Wade.”
“How d’ye do, Mr. Richmond?” was Roger’s civil rejoinder. His talk with Peter had put him in a frame of mind to bear and forbear, to do whatever he could toward ending the quarrel between father and daughter.
“I’d be greatly obliged—for a few—minutes of your time,” said Richmond between breaths.