“Yes, Sibyl, try hard,” said her father, “try very hard to be good. Don’t let goodness go. Grasp it tight with both hands and never let it go. So may God indeed help you.” Ogilvie said these words in a strained voice. Then he covered her up in bed, drew down the blinds, and left her.
“He’s fretted; it’s just ’cos the world is so wicked, and ’cos I’m not as good as I ought to be,” thought the child. A moment later she had fallen asleep with a smile on her face.
Ogilvie went to his club. There he wrote a short letter. It ran as follows:—
“My Dear Grayleigh,—
“Your offer was not unexpected. I thought it over even before it came, and I have considered it since. Although I am fully aware of the money advantages it holds out to me I have decided to decline it. Frankly, I cannot undertake to assay the Lombard Deeps Gold Mine, although your offer has been a great temptation. No doubt you will find another man more suited for your purpose.
“Yours sincerely,
“Philip Ogilvie.”
It was between one and two that same night that Ogilvie let himself in with his latchkey.
His wife had been to one or two receptions, and had not yet gone to bed. She was standing in the hall, looking radiant as he had seldom seen her. She was dressed beautifully, and her hair and neck were covered with diamonds.
“What,” he cried, “up still, Mildred? You ought to be in bed.”
He did not give her any glance of admiration, beautiful as she appeared. He shivered slightly with a movement which she did not notice as she stood before him, the lamplight falling all over her lovely dress and figure.