“Mr. Clifford told me that your father would give me in settlement any sum I might mention.”
“And your reply to that?”
“I didn’t make any reply. There was none.”
“He’ll expect a reply. He’ll come for it himself, if necessary.”
“That’s one reason for my moving—because I knew he would come.”
“Was that all dad offered?” Jack demanded. “You made a big hit with him.”
She thought it best that the inflammable youth should remain ignorant of the father’s invitation, convoyed by orchids each worth a bank-note, to the supposedly disespoused mistress of his son to join him in a very exclusive cruise.
“That was all that happened,” she answered steadily.
Quickly, but without seeming haste, she shifted from this dangerous subject, back to their difference. “Of course you agree, Jack,” she pressed him, “that we must still keep things quiet, and keep on waiting?”
His desperate mood was instantly back upon him again. “Even if we could keep up that pretense,” he cried,—“why, you’re forgetting Maisie Jones! You’re forgetting my predicament!”