“Well, I thought——” She hesitated, and then a little incoherently, “You see, I have the money—mainly through you—my own money, I mean. I feel I have a duty to my poor uncle and I could trust you to do your very best. I could afford it, Timothy”—she laid her hand on his arm and looked up at him almost beseechingly—“indeed I can afford it. I have more money than I shall ever spend.”
He patted her hand softly.
“Mary,” he said, “it is just the kind of job I should like, and with anybody’s money but yours, why, I’d be out of the country in two shakes, looking for Mr. Cartwright in the most expensive cities of the world. But, my dear, I cannot accept your commission, because I know just what lies behind it. You think I’m a restless, rather shiftless sort of fellow, and you want to give me a good time—with your money.”
He stopped and shook his head.
“No, my dear,” he said, “thank you, but, no!”
She was disappointed and for a moment a little hurt.
“Would two hundred pounds——” she suggested timidly.
“Not your two hundred,” he said. “That lawyer of yours should take better care of your money, Mary. He shouldn’t allow you to make these tempting offers to young men,” he was smiling now. “Will you go abroad?”
“Perhaps—some day,” she said vaguely. “Sir John wanted me to go—and I feel that I should be pleasing him. Some day, yes, Timothy.”
He nodded.