“I’ll give you all the capital you want,” he eagerly declared.
“No—thanks,” said she. “But—I’ll tell you what you may do. You may buy a block of Wauchong bonds I happen to own.”
“You did it?” cried he, delighted.
“You may have them at a hundred and fifty. I always try to make a reasonable profit on a deal.”
“I’ll send you a blank check.”
She put her arms round him and kissed him. There was a trembling in his tight return embrace that sent a pang through her; for it suggested somehow his deep impelling thought—fear—of the eternal separation—the everlasting farewell, not far away from him and her at the most. “Father—dear,” she murmured.
“Don’t harass yourself, child—about him,” he whispered. “Let me help you try to forget.”
She drew away gently and looked at him, in her eyes a will which he now admitted—proudly—to be more unswerving than his own. Said she: “You didn’t teach me to forget—or to give up, either.”
He sighed. “I’ll wait and take you to the ferry.” And she went into her bedroom.
She had been dressing perhaps ten minutes when he rapped excitedly on her door. “What is it?” inquired she.