"Yes, surer now than ever before, though I've known it all along."
"Then you refuse me point blank?"
"I do."
He fetched another long breath and took her hand.
"That's the kindest thing you ever did for me, Gerty," he said, out of a full heart. "I—I'm ashamed to confess it, but I've been disloyal all along. It's——"
"It's Hannah Beaswicke; I knew it," she said, smiling wisely. "But don't humiliate yourself; I, too, have been 'disloyal,' as you call it."
"You?"
"Yes; I'll tell you about it some time—no, not now"—shaking her head—"dinner is ready."
It was thus that Fleetwell kept his promise to his cousin, and there had been never so much as a word about what Mr. Francis Vennor considered the main question at issue, namely, the fate of Gertrude's legacy. And when they came to the table together they were so evidently at peace that the President drew another false conclusion and wore his best King George smile throughout the entire dinner-hour.
At the conclusion of the meal, Fleetwell dodged the customary cigar with his cousin. Under the circumstances he deemed it prudent to give the chapter of accidents a clear field. Moreover, he conjectured that Gertrude had somewhat to say to her father, and would be grateful for an undisturbed half-hour; wherefore he proposed a stroll up-town to Mrs. Dunham and the Misses Beaswicke, and presently left the car with the three of them in tow.