"Oh yes," Hazel said blandly. "Just a quick one on the cheek, you know—not at all as you would kiss mother, or as you would hug the boys."
"Just so," Paul returned meekly. "The old ruffian did not deserve such luck," was his inward comment.
There was a somewhat lengthy pause, devoted by Paul to pondering the subject. But of a sudden he looked up to find the girl regarding him beseechingly.
"You—you have not answered yet," she said, timidly reminding him.
"Need I say anything?" he asked, amused at her insistence. "Do you not know me better than to suspect me of doing such a thing? Why, it would not only be an insult to Hugh, but Mrs. Le Mesurier would be quick to see through, and resent, such interference."
Hazel gave vent to a sigh of relief; and Paul went on. "How could you credit such a suspicion for a moment? Don't you see how pleasant it is for me to have some one about that I know and like? Why, that in itself is worth the—the mere salary, let alone the fact that he is really useful. Are you satisfied? Do you believe me?" And he regarded his visitor quizzically.
"Of course," Hazel said generously, and with a little flush. "Between you and me," she continued, "I could not help feeling, from what I know of Hugh, that there might be a certain amount of truth about the char—, in what Uncle Percival said," she amended. "There is no denying that Hugh has not much of a business head, and—and that, therefore, it follows that he cannot be quite as useful to you as you would wish. I—I could not help feeling that the new man you think of engaging could easily do it all, you know. But I quite believe you," she added sincerely, feeling apologetic for harping upon the subject, or, indeed, for adding a single word after having acknowledged herself satisfied; having clinched, so to say, with Paul in faith and trust. "But he would make a splendid artist, would not he?" she said enthusiastically.
"Yes," Paul replied, "he is very clever. It is a thousand pities that he cannot take it up; for, I will admit, he would make a better artist than secretary."
Hazel glowed with gratified pride. "Well," she said, "I must go. Hugh had better not see me. He would, of course, want to know why I had come."
Paul smothered a sigh. "But your feet," he objected. "Are your shoes properly dry?"