“I think I understand,” laughed Dick. “He’s taken a fancy to you.”
“Yes, Dick, I think he has. It is because he 276 thinks—that you have taken a fancy to me—that—oh, well, can’t you understand?”
She rested her cheek against his, and, as he folded her to his heart, he understood.
“So, grandfather has turned matchmaker. I’ll warrant he thinks you are a skinflint, and will take care of his money.”
“That’s it, Dick. He thinks I’m the most economical person. I saw him looking at my dress, a cheap, tweed walking affair. Oh, good gracious, if he had seen my wardrobe at home, or the housekeeping and the stable accounts!”
“Then, you’ll have to keep it up, darling. Next time you go to see him, borrow a dress from your maid.”
“Dick, your grandfather talked of getting you out of your scrape. What does that mean? If he pays the seven thousand dollars, will it get you off?”
“It is not a question of money, now. It is a question of the penitentiary, darling. And I don’t see that it is fair to hold you to any pledges. I’ve got to go through with this business. You couldn’t marry an ex-convict.”
“Dick, if you are not guilty, if you have done no wrong, you are shielding someone else who has.” Dora arose to her feet impatiently, and stood looking down almost angrily.
“Dora, Dora, don’t force it out of me!” he 277 pleaded. “If you think a little, you’ll understand.”