A Fool and His Money

by George Barr McCutcheon

"He will challenge you," she said nervously. "I am so sorry to have placed you in this dreadful position, Mr. Smart. I shall never forgive myself for—"

"You are in no way concerned in what happened to-day," I interrupted. "It was a purely personal affair. Moreover, he will not challenge me."

"He has fought three duels," she said. "He is not a physical coward." Her dark eyes were full of dread.

I hesitated. "Would you be vitally interested in the outcome of such an affair?" I asked. My voice was strangely husky.

"Oh, how can you ask?"

"I mean, on Rosemary's account," I stammered. "He—he is her father, you see. It would mean—"

"I was not thinking of the danger to him, Mr. Smart," she said simply.

"But can't you see how dreadful it would be if I were to kill Rosemary's father?" I cried, completely forgetting myself. "Can't you see?"

A slow flush mounted to her brow. "That is precisely what I was thinking, Mr. Smart. It would be—unspeakably dreadful."

I stood over her. My heart was pounding heavily. She must have seen the peril that lay in my eyes, for she suddenly slipped out of the chair and faced me, the flush dying in her cheek, leaving it as pale as ivory.