Cummings’ immediate expansion was visible to the eye. “I ’preciate your choice,” he responded handsomely, “and I un’erstand just how you want it done. ’S that enough, or d’you want talk some more?”
Henry Carleton whipped out his watch. “No, no,” he answered hastily, “it’s late now, Jim. Later than I thought. We understand each other, of course. Do your best, that’s all. And, Jim,” he added, with a curious note, almost, one would have said, of entreaty, in his tone, “you understand my motives perfectly, don’t you? You see my reasoning? You’re convinced that I’m acting for the best?”
Singular enough it was to see the great financier verging on an appeal to a man in every way so far his inferior. Cummings, even in his slightly befuddled condition, seemed to appreciate the honor conferred. “Mr. Carleton,” he answered, “I un’erstand ’ntirely. Your motives irreproachable; no one say otherwise, by possibility.”
Henry Carleton looked his relief. “Good,” he said briefly. “I shouldn’t proceed without your approval of the plan. And you will bear in mind the need of haste, I know.”
It was five minutes later that he rejoined his daughter and Vaughan upon the piazza, with his usual thoughtfulness emerging slowly from the house, and clearing his throat somewhat ostentatiously several times by way of fair and friendly warning. It may have been that this signal was needed, it may have been that it was not; in any event, when Henry Carleton had actually reached the cosy corner, it was to find Rose and Vaughan seated decorously enough some distance apart, although for the moment, indeed, conversation between the two appeared to have come completely to a standstill.
Henry Carleton eyed them benevolently. “A beautiful night,” he observed impartially, and then, more especially addressing himself to Rose, “Did you know that it was after half-past ten, my dear. Early to bed, you know.”
In the darkness Rose Carleton frowned impatiently. Yes, she knew. That she should retire early was one point on which her father insisted with a strictness that made it hopeless to contest the point with him. “Early to bed.” She felt a huge dislike for the worthy originator of the phrase. Even the soundest and sanest of maxims, without the occasional exception which proves the rule, may come to mean next to nothing. “Yes, I know it,” she answered shortly, with just a trace of irritated rebellion in her tone. Eighteen does not relish being treated like twelve.
Her father noted the tone. “Well, good night, my dear,” he observed evenly. “Say good night to Mr. Vaughan, and don’t forget to be up in good season to-morrow. We shall be a little hurried without the motor. You must have our coffee ready for us sharp on time.” Then, a pause ensuing, without any move seeming to come from Rose, he added persuasively, “I trust you and Mr. Vaughan have enjoyed your evening together, my dear.”
There was a hint of mild reproach in his tone, and at the words forthwith the girl relented. It was true enough. He had been considerate to allow her to have Vaughan to herself for the evening. It would have been easy to have managed things otherwise. He was a pretty good father, after all. So obediently she rose and gave her hand to Vaughan, with just sufficient pressure to let him understand that had the occasion served, her good night would have been a very different one, kissed her father, and went quietly up-stairs.
Left alone, Vaughan turned to Henry Carleton.