“Well, let us hear.”
“Why, I believe, if you will let me take Philip Wakem into our confidence,—let me tell him all about your wish to buy, and what it’s for; that my cousins wish to have it, and why they wish to have it,—I believe Philip would help to bring it about. I know he would desire to do it.”
“I don’t see how that can be, child,” said Mr Deane, looking puzzled. “Why should he care?”—then, with a sudden penetrating look at his daughter, “You don’t think the poor lad’s fond of you, and so you can make him do what you like?” (Mr Deane felt quite safe about his daughter’s affections.)
“No, papa; he cares very little about me,—not so much as I care about him. But I have a reason for being quite sure of what I say. Don’t you ask me. And if you ever guess, don’t tell me. Only give me leave to do as I think fit about it.”
Lucy rose from her stool to seat herself on her father’s knee, and kissed him with that last request.
“Are you sure you won’t do mischief, now?” he said, looking at her with delight.
“Yes, papa, quite sure. I’m very wise; I’ve got all your business talents. Didn’t you admire my accompt-book, now, when I showed it you?”
“Well, well, if this youngster will keep his counsel, there won’t be much harm done. And to tell the truth, I think there’s not much chance for us any other way. Now, let me go off to sleep.”
Chapter VIII.
Wakem in a New Light
Before three days had passed after the conversation you have just overheard between Lucy and her father she had contrived to have a private interview with Philip during a visit of Maggie’s to her aunt Glegg. For a day and a night Philip turned over in his mind with restless agitation all that Lucy had told him in that interview, till he had thoroughly resolved on a course of action. He thought he saw before him now a possibility of altering his position with respect to Maggie, and removing at least one obstacle between them. He laid his plan and calculated all his moves with the fervid deliberation of a chess-player in the days of his first ardor, and was amazed himself at his sudden genius as a tactician. His plan was as bold as it was thoroughly calculated. Having watched for a moment when his father had nothing more urgent on his hands than the newspaper, he went behind him, laid a hand on his shoulder, and said,—