"You're doing this for Christine," he said resentfully. "Just to get me away, so's I can't trouble her. That's it, isn't it? Tell the truth, Mary."
"I would not expect you to do anything for her sake if I were not willing to do a great deal myself," was her enigmatic rejoinder.
"Don't hate me, Mary," he burst out.
She pressed his arm. "I am giving you a chance," she reminded him. There was still a dreariness in her voice, but he did not detect it. He returned the pressure, half hopeful that the beginning already had been made.
Brooks let them in. He had been waiting up for them.
"Mr. Braddock will be here over the night, Brooks."
"Yes, Mrs. Braddock." He opened the door into the library for them, and then silently hastened upstairs.
"You must have been pretty sure of yourself," commented Braddock, in no little wonder. She threw off the shaker cloak.
"There is a cold supper for you in the dining-room, Tom—and a piece of a last-minute wedding cake. You must be hungry. While you are eating we will talk over my plan."
He went about it as if in a dream. For an hour they discussed her plan for the future. In the end he fell in with it.