"Of course I do, but—you can see for yourself that she has not been happy. I have made it just as hard for her as I possibly could, too. I have not told her about Sparks, or the chiefs taking a shine to me, or my rise in salary. I—I wanted her to have a bad time, I—I wanted the little wretch to feel what she was going to give up in giving up you, and all your things, just for me. For the penniless, obscure kid I was at first."
"And you think that she will do this now?"
"Yes, poor little thing, oh, yes, she will!" He mused for a moment and then his face sharpened again and he added testily, "But I won't ask her to."
"You mean that she must ask you?" Barclay spoke more gently. "Well, when she has asked you to marry her—what are you going to do about poor Miss Perkins?"
Wick literally bounced to his feet, as if the name had been a bomb dropped into the room.
"Oh, Miss Perkins—Miss Perkins," he repeated almost idiotically.
"Yes. This is bound to be something of a blow to her." Barclay's face was very grave, but there was a slight quiver in his voice.
Oliver Wick had, just then, no ear for slight quivers.
"I—oh, she'll be all right," he murmured feebly.