She nodded. That was exactly what she was secretly striving to help him do.
He became more composed, and for a hesitant, silent moment he peered thoughtfully into her eyes.
“But, Katherine—this affair with Peck this afternoon shows me I am up against a mighty stiff proposition,” he said, speaking with the slowness of one who is shaping his statements with extreme care. “I have got to fight a lot harder than I thought I would have to three hours ago, when I thought I had Peck with me. To beat him, and beat Blake, I have got to have every possible weapon. Consequently, circumstances force me to speak of a matter that I wish I did not have to talk about.” He reached forward and took her hand. “But, remember, dear,” he besought her tenderly, “that I don’t want to hurt you. Remember that.”
She felt a sudden tightening about the heart.
“Yes—what is it?” she asked quietly.
“Remember, dear, that I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated. “It’s about your father’s case. You see how certain victory would be if we only had the evidence to prove what we know?”
“I see.”
“I don’t mean to say one single unkind word about your not having made—having made—more encouraging progress.” He pressed her hand; his tone was gentle and persuasive. “I’ll confess I have secretly felt some impatience, but I have not pressed the matter because—well, you see that in this critical situation, with election so near, I’m forced to speak about it now.”
“What would you like?” she said with an effort.