"No, my dear, I'll go with you," said the younger man. "I don't think, sir," he added, turning round, with a desperately white but smiling face, "that we can advance business much by prolonging this interview, and if you have no objection, I should like to take a drive with my wife as she has called."
Valentine instinctively felt that these smoothly spoken words were meant to hide something. She glanced from the face of one man to another; then she went up to her father and linked her hand in his arm.
"Come, too, daddy," she said. "You used always to be able to make horrid business wait upon your own Valentine's pleasure."
Mr. Paget hesitated for a moment. Then he stooped and lightly kissed his daughter's blooming cheek.
"Go with your husband, dear," he said, gently. "I am really busy, and we shall meet at dinner time."
"Yes, we are to dine with you to-night—I've a most important request to make after dinner. You know what it is, Gerry. Won't father be electrified? Promise beforehand that you'll grant it, dad."
"Yes, my child, yes. Now run away both of you. I am really much occupied."
Valentine and her husband disappeared. Mr. Paget shut and locked the door behind them—he drew the velvet curtains to insure perfect privacy. Then he sank down in his easy-chair to indulge in anxious meditation.
He thought some of those hard thoughts, some of those abstruse, worrying, almost despairing thoughts, which add years to a man's life.
As he thought the mask dropped from his handsome face; he looked old and wicked.