Madeleine sprang from her seat:
“No, I must not see him,” she cried in frightened tones; “I promised my father. I came at this time because I knew he would not be here. Let me go: We are having trouble enough. No—please, Mr. Gregg—no, I must go.”
“And what shall I tell Phil?” He dared not persuade her.
“Tell him—tell him—Oh, Mr. Gregg, you know how I love him!”
She was through the curtains and halfway down the corridor before he could reach the door. All the light had come back to her eyes and the spring to her step.
Adam walked to the banisters and listened to the patter of her little feet descending the stairs to the street. Then he went back into the studio and drew the curtains. Thank God, her heart was all right.
Once more he picked his brushes from the ginger-jar where in his despair he had thrust them. Nothing in the situation had changed. The fear that Madeleine had lost her love for Phil had never troubled him for an instant. Women’s hearts did not beat that way. That Phil’s future was assured once he got his feet under him was also a foregone conclusion. What Mr. Eggleston thought about it was another matter, and yet not a serious one. He might be ugly for a time—would be—but that was to be expected in a man who had lost his special capital, a son-in-law and considerable of his reputation at one blow. What had evidently hurt the banker most was the wounding of his pride. He had always stood well with Mr. Stockton—must continue to do so when he realized how many of his other interests depended on his good-will and the trust company’s assistance. Phil had not told Adam this when he went over the scene in the office the morning they closed up the accounts, but Gregg had read between the lines. The one bright ray of sunshine was Madeleine’s refusal to break her word to her father. That pleased him most of all.
A knock at the door interrupted his revery. It did not sound like Phil’s, but Adam had been deceived once before and he hurried to meet him.
This time a messenger stood outside.