Gretchen was, of course, familiar with Larry's position as a business rival of her father's pet company, and she had thought it best, since Larry's departure from New York, to keep their engagement a secret from her parents. She had heard from him regularly, and distance, it seemed, had made no difference in the nature of her feelings for him, but she knew from her father's disappointment at Cortland Bent's defection that the time to take her parents into her confidence had not yet arrived.
It had not occurred to Curtis Janney to think of Lawrence Berkely's attentions seriously, but Gretchen knew that her mother, at least, had breathed a sigh of relief when Larry had left New York. Mrs. Janney had questioned her daughter anxiously, but Gretchen had answered in riddles, and in the end had succeeded in convincing her that marriage was the last thing in the world she was thinking of. Gretchen was a little afraid of her father. Once or twice he had expressed himself rather freely as to the kind of man he expected his daughter to marry, from which it was clear that his list of eligibles did not include Lawrence Berkely. She had written all of this tearfully to Larry, so that when she reached Denver he decided that matters had reached a crisis which demanded some sort of an understanding with Janney père. The clandestine meetings, which rather appealed to Gretchen's sense of the romantic, made Larry unhappy. He had nothing to be ashamed of and saw no reason why he had to court the woman he loved under cover of darkness. So he made up his mind to settle the thing in his own way.
In this crisis it had occurred to Gretchen to enlist Mrs. Cheyne's services in their behalf, for Rita had always been a favorite of her father's; but an evening or two after her arrival in Denver that lady had mysteriously disappeared from the hotel, only leaving word that she had gone to visit friends in the neighborhood and would advise General Bent of her future plans. No one but Larry, with whom she had been talking, had for a moment suspected that the "friends" in the neighborhood were only Jeff, and, though she had not bound Larry to secrecy, both duty and discretion demanded his silence.
Larry's position was difficult, but when he discovered that nothing was to be gained by keeping his movements hidden from Cornelius Bent he took the bull by the horns and boldly sent up his card to Curtis Janney's suite. He was so full of his own affairs that Mr. Janney's possible misconception of the object of his visit had not occurred to him. He was welcomed cordially—so jovially, in fact, that for a moment he was taken off his guard.
"Well, Berkely, by George! glad to see you. Rather a surprise to find us all out here invading your own country, eh?"
Larry sat rather soberly, refused a cigar, and expressed well-bred surprise.
"I can't imagine anybody wanting to leave Braebank in April," he said.
"Well, I didn't want to, Berkely—I'm doing a little scientific farming this summer—but we had to come out on this smelter business—the General and I——" He stopped and puffed rapidly at his cigar. "It's too bad—really—I'm sorry, sorry, but I think Wray made a mistake. I like Wray, Berkely. He's got stuff in him, but he overleaped himself in this smelter business. It's a pity he thought he had to fight us, but you've got to admit we gave him every chance."
"I didn't come to see you about the smelter business, Mr. Janney," said Berkely rather quietly, "but on a matter of my own—a personal—a private matter."
Janney's face grew grave.