“You're—you're sure she's all that?”
Again his words were as much a statement aloud to himself of his constant dream as they were a direct answer to Maggie. “Of course! There was enough money—the plan was in the hands of a friend who knew how to handle such a thing—she's never known anything but the very best surroundings—and until she was fourteen I had regular reports on how wonderfully she was progressing. You see my friend had had her legally adopted by a splendid family, so there's no doubt about everything being for the best.”
“And you”—Maggie drove herself on—“don't you ever want to see her?”
“Of course I do. But at the very beginning I fixed things so I could not; so that I would not even know where she is. Removed temptation from myself, you see. Don't you see the possible results if I should try to see her? Something might happen that would bring out the truth, and that would ruin her happiness, her career. Don't you see?”
His gray eyes, bright with his great dream, were fixed intently upon Maggie; and yet she felt that they were gazing far beyond her at some other girl... at his girl.
“I—I—” she gulped and swayed and would have fallen if he had not been quick to catch her arm.
“You are sick, Miss?” he asked anxiously.
“I—I have been,” she stammered, trying to regain control of her faculties. “It's—it's that—and my not eating—and standing in this hot sun. Thank you very much for what you've told me. I'd—I'd better be getting back.”
“I'll help you.” And very gently, with a firm hand under one arm, he escorted her to the bench where Larry sat scribbling nothings. He then raised his hat and returned to his dahlias.
“Well?” queried Larry when they were alone.