Edith instinctively resented the suggestion. Billy West was hers, by right of conquest. The thought of turning him over to anyone, even to her sister, annoyed her. “Alice thinks too much of someone else,” she replied primly.
“You mean Hall?”
“Yes. They’ve been as good as engaged for months. Mother objects, of course, but I think Alice loves him.”
Donald smiled. “In that case, we’ll have to find someone else for Billy. Emerson Hall is a splendid fellow, and I’d be glad to see Alice marry him.” He came over to Edith and patted her shoulder affectionately. “I never expected to play the rôle of a matchmaker, but I’d be mighty glad to see Billy fall in love with some nice girl, who would appreciate him, and help him to make something of his life. Just sitting around New York, spending thirty or forty thousand a year, isn’t good for any man. With his money he ought to travel, see the world, take up some hobby, have children—that’s about the most human thing a man can do. With all that money at his command he could do so much for them.”
“Yes,” she assented, not daring to look at him.
“What I’m afraid of is that he’ll fall in love with some woman who’ll ruin his life—somebody that won’t have an idea above clothes, and automobiles, and physical enjoyment. There are so many like that, here in New York, and, if he should happen to care for one of them, it would spoil his whole future. Billy is really quite simple in his tastes. He’d love a big country place, and horses, and dogs, and all that. This gay New York life attracts him now, because he’s been away from it for so long, but in another six months he’ll be sick of it. I’m going to have a talk with him.”
Edith said nothing. What, indeed, was there for her to say? Donald’s words cut deep. For a brief space she almost hated herself. Was West’s love for her going to spoil his whole life? She shivered at the thought. Then the picture of the man, his smiling face, his attractive and alluring personality, rose before her, and drove away the doubts which had for the moment chilled her heart. She rose and put away her sewing. “Perhaps you had better let Billy West manage his own love-affairs,” she remarked quietly.
Donald, busily engaged in refilling his pipe, failed to see the trace of resentment which accompanied her words. “Oh, I don’t mean to interfere,” he said. “I’m not a fool. But Billy and I have been friends for a long time, and I don’t think he’d mind a little advice from me.”
“You are going to ask him about this—this money, to-morrow?” Edith inquired presently.
“Perhaps. I may sound him out, at least. We sha’n’t need the money for some weeks—may not need it at all, in fact, but I want to be prepared.”