The brother-smile came again.
"Let's paste that leaf down and turn the other; the one that has David Kent's name written, at the top. He is going to succeed all around, Elinor; and I am going to help him—for his sake, as well as yours."
"No," she dissented. "He is going to fail; and I am to blame for it."
He looked at her sidewise.
"So you were at the bottom of that, were you? I thought as much, and tried to make him admit it, but he wouldn't. What was your reason?"
"I gave it to him: I can't give it to you."
"I guess not," he laughed. "I wasn't born on the right side of the Berkshire Hills to appreciate it. But really, you mustn't interfere. As I say, we are going to make something of David; and a little conscience—of the right old Pilgrim Fathers' brand—goes a long way in politics."
"But you promised me you were not going to spoil him—only it doesn't matter; you can't."
Ormsby chuckled openly, and when she questioned "What?" he said:
"I was just wondering what you would say if you knew what he is into now; if you could guess, for instance, that his backers have put up a cool hundred thousand to be used as he sees fit?"