“Well, I—I scarcely know. I was to have a desk there and—and be generally—ornamental, I suppose. It was not very definite, the details of the position, but—”
“The salary was good, wasn't it?”
“Yes; more than good. Much too good for the return I could make for it, so it seemed to me.”
“And your prospects for the future? Wasn't the offer what people call a good opportunity?”
“Why, yes, I suppose it was. For the right sort of man it would have been a wonderful opportunity. Your father was most kind, most generous, Madeline. Please don't think I am not appreciative. I am, but—”
“Don't. I want to understand it all. He offered you this opportunity, this partnership in his firm, and you would not accept it? Why? Don't you like my father?”
“Yes, I like him very much.”
“Didn't you,” with the slightest possible curl of the lip, “think the offer worthy of you? . . . Oh, I don't mean that! Please forgive me. I am trying not to be disagreeable. I—I just want to understand, Albert, that's all.”
He nodded. “I know, Madeline,” he said. “You have the right to ask. It wasn't so much a question of the offer being worthy of me as of my being worthy the offer. Oh, Madeline, why should you and I pretend? You know why Mr. Fosdick made me that offer. It wasn't because I was likely to be worth ten dollars a year to his firm. In Heaven's name, what use would I be in a stockbroker's office, with my make-up, with my lack of business ability? He would be making a place for me there and paying me a high salary for one reason only, and you know what that is. Now don't you?”
She hesitated now, but only for an instant. She colored a little, but she answered bravely.