“But you will need his help?”
“No doubt,” Decoud admitted without hesitation. “Everything turns upon the San Tome mine, but I would rather he didn’t know anything as yet of my—my hopes.”
A puzzled look came upon Mrs. Gould’s face, and Decoud, approaching, explained confidentially—
“Don’t you see, he’s such an idealist.”
Mrs. Gould flushed pink, and her eyes grew darker at the same time.
“Charley an idealist!” she said, as if to herself, wonderingly. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Yes,” conceded Decoud, “it’s a wonderful thing to say with the sight of the San Tome mine, the greatest fact in the whole of South America, perhaps, before our very eyes. But look even at that, he has idealized this fact to a point—” He paused. “Mrs. Gould, are you aware to what point he has idealized the existence, the worth, the meaning of the San Tome mine? Are you aware of it?”
He must have known what he was talking about.
The effect he expected was produced. Mrs. Gould, ready to take fire, gave it up suddenly with a low little sound that resembled a moan.
“What do you know?” she asked in a feeble voice.