“Did you? Who was it?”
“Mr. Pearson.”
“He used to give me candy. Why didn't you call me?”
“It is important that we should not be recognized,” said his mother. “While we stay here we must be exceedingly prudent. Suppose he had called upon us at the hotel and fallen in with Mr. Granville. He might have told him that you are my son, and that your name is Jonas, not Philip.”
“Then the fat would be in the fire!” said Jonas.
“Exactly so; I am glad you see the danger. Now I want you to stay here, or in your own room, for the next two or three hours.”
“It'll be awfully tiresome,” grumbled Jonas.
“It is necessary,” said his mother firmly. “Mr. Pearson leaves for New York by an afternoon train. It is now only two o'clock. He left the car at Thirteenth Street, and might easily call at this hotel. It is a general rendezvous for visitors to the city. If he should meet you down stairs, he would probably know you, and his curiosity would be aroused. He asked me where I was staying, but I didn't appear to hear the question.”
“That's pretty hard on me, ma.”
“I am out of all patience with you,” said Mrs. Brent. “Am I not working for your interest, and you are doing all you can to thwart my plans. If you don't care anything about inheriting a large fortune, let it go! We can go back to Gresham and give it all up.”