"Oh, uncle!" said Dorothy. Her pain and surprise were quite genuine.
Garrison colored instantly.
He might have been hopelessly floundering in a moment had not a natural indignation risen in his blood.
"Please remember that up to this evening you and I have been absolute strangers," he said, with some heat. "I am not the kind to marry for money. Had I done so I should not continue in my present calling for a very modest compensation."
He felt that Dorothy might misunderstand or even doubt his resolution to go on with her requirements. He added pointedly:
"I have undertaken certain assignments for my present employers which I mean to put through to the end, and no one aware of my motives could charge me with anything sordid."
Dorothy rose, crossed the space between her chair and the small settee where Garrison was seated, took the place at his side, and shyly laid her hand upon his own. It was a natural, wifely thing to do. Garrison recognized her perfect acting. A tingle of strange, lawless joy ran through his veins; nevertheless, he still faced Robinson, for his anger had been no pretense.
There was something in his bearing, when aroused, that invited caution. He was not a man with whom to trifle. Mrs. Robinson, having felt it before, underwent the experience anew.
"Let's not start off with a row," she said. "No one means to offend you, Mr. Fairfax."
"What do you think he'll do?" demanded her husband. "Order us out of the house? It ain't his yet, and he knows it."