"So, then," Bill was saying, "my idea is this: Not being in society, and never having been there, naturally I can't take a running jump into the middle of it. An outsider has to be eased in, I don't care who his family is, unless he's a foreigner. In my case it ought to take some time to fight my way through the preliminaries. Now, I'm not saying yet that I'll go in, mind you. But I'm willing to see the thing started. I don't want you to get the idea that I'm pigheaded. I might change my mind."
He knew that he wouldn't, but Mary nodded.
"So, why not go ahead with the job and see what comes of it? That's playing square with Aunt Caroline, I'm sure. Later on, if the time comes when it's all off, we'll go and tell her so and ask for a new deal. How about it? Fair enough?"
"Yes," said Mary, slowly, "that seems to be fair—provided you're sincere."
"Miss Norcross, I'm the soul of sincerity."
For that protestation she suspected him, yet she did not feel justified in pressing scruples too far. She was not a hypocrite.
"If you are really going to try it, then, I suppose you will have need of a secretary."
"My idea exactly," said Bill heartily. "Shake."
She shook.
"I'm glad that's settled," he declared, with a comfortable stretch. "Now we can talk about something else."