“And now?”
Appleby made her a little inclination. “Tony,” he said, “is a very good fellow, as men go, but I do not know that he is good enough for you.”
Violet Wayne smiled and then sat still, looking at him with a curious softness in her eyes. “He is in trouble,” she said simply, “and I am fond of him. That is why I have led you on.”
Appleby rose, and there was a suggestion of resolute alertness in his attitude, though his head was bent. “Don’t ask me for any help that I can give. Let me offer it,” he said. “I don’t know that I am expressing myself fittingly, but it is not only because you will be Tony’s wife that you can command whatever little I can do.”
The girl saw his lips set and the glint in his eyes, and knew he meant what he said. She also saw his chivalrous respect for herself, and, being a young woman of keen perceptions, also surmised that the son of the ranker possessed certain qualities which were lacking in the man she was to marry. She was, as she had admitted, fond of Tony, but most of those who knew and liked him guessed that he was unstable and weak as water. Violet Wayne had, however, in spite of occasional misgivings, not quite realized that fact yet.
“I want you to help him because you are his friend—and mine, but it would hurt him if you told him that I had asked you to; and I do not even know what the trouble is,” she said.
“I have pledged myself; but if you have failed to discover it how can I expect to succeed?”
Violet Wayne did not look at him this time. “There are some difficulties a man would rather tell his comrade than the woman who is to be his wife.”
“I think, if I understand you aright, that you are completely and wholly mistaken. If Tony is in any difficulty, it will be his usual one, the want of money.”
A tinge of color crept into the girl’s face. “Then you will lend it him and come to me. I have plenty.”