"Now that I know what you are? I know that you are a man up against a devilish proposition, and all on account of your love for a beautiful, adorable woman. You don't think that I'd break with you for that, do you?"
A glimmer of hope shot from Will's fine, dark eyes.
"You're even better than I thought you," he returned simply, and the two men parted without further remark.
As George was about to leave, Alma met him in the foyer.
"Good-bye little girl," he said gravely, "Will doesn't seem very well to-night. Don't keep him up too late, will you?"
"No, indeed. You notice then, how ill he looks?" she asked, her anxiety lending a pathos to her beauty.
"Yes, he needs a rest and no worry of any kind. I'll step in tomorrow. Good-night," and, fearing to lengthen the conversation, he left quickly.
Alma found Will, leaning forward in his chair, and gazing into the fire with a morbid intensity. So great was his absorption, that he didn't hear her enter the room. She crossed over to him, and, leaning over his chair, gently she raised his head and laid it back against the cushions.
He started slightly. "You Alma?" he said wearily. "Our pleasant little evening is over dear. You had better retire now for I must have an hour or two alone—to puzzle out a business proposition before I can sleep."
"O, Will, you are too tired. George said that you should retire early."