“You are making me out a poor, miserable sinner; though I am a most innocent one, I do assure you,” she protested, not without a suggestion of sarcasm. “What is it you wish me to do?”
Carfax needed no one to tell him that he was wading in deep waters, and that another step might put him in over his head. Yet he could not retreat; he had gone too far.
“I have been trying to hammer a little common sense into Vance; perhaps I have said more than even a good friend has a right to say. Hitherto it hasn’t done much good; but last night I had a perfectly brilliant inspiration. I wonder if you could be induced to help me carry it out?—just in the interests of a—of a square deal all around, you know.”
“Another absurdity?” she queried, half scornfully.
“Yes, just that; a—a most ridiculous absurdity. Will you—er—will you marry me, Miss Richardia?”
“Most certainly not,” she returned, with a strained little laugh. “Why should I?”
“There isn’t any reason at all, of course,” he hastened to say. “But if you would make your answer not quite so—er—so positive: if you would be so generous as to—er—to seem to take it under consideration; just until Vance can get on his feet again——”
This time her laughter was wholly mirthful; an abandonment of all hamperings.
“Of all preposterous askings!” she gasped. “Are there many more like you, Mr. Carfax—in New York?”
“Plenty of them,” he assured her, not too seriously. Then: “It wouldn’t be such a dreadful thing, would it? I can make love very nicely, you know; honestly, I can. And we shouldn’t have to do anything more than to keep up appearances.”