CHAPTER IX
A MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING
In the library, Travis and Mrs. Westmore sat for some time in silence. Travis, as usual, smoked, in his thoughtful way watching the firelight which flickered now and then, half lighting up the room. It was plain that both were thinking of a subject that neither wished to be the first to bring up.
“I have been wanting all day to ask you about the mortgage,” she said to him, finally.
“Oh,” said Travis, indifferently enough—“that's all right. I arranged it at the bank to-day.”
“I am so much obliged to you; it has been so on my mind,” said his companion. “We women are such poor financiers, I wonder how you men ever have patience to bother with us. Did you get Mr. Shipton to carry it at the bank for another year?”
“Why—I—you see, Cousin Alethea—Shipton's a close dog—and the most unaccommodating fellow that ever lived when it comes to money. And so—er—well—the truth is—is—I had to act quickly and for what I thought was your interest.”
Mrs. Westmore looked up quickly, and Travis saw the pained look in her face. “So I bought it in myself,” he went on, carelessly flecking his cigar ashes into the fire. “I just had the judgment and sale transferred to me—to accommodate you—Cousin Alethea—you understand that—entirely for you. I hate to see you bothered this way—I'll carry it as long as you wish.”