“That’s dam’ delicate of you, Clifford,” said Loveman, “and I approve of your sentiments as a gentleman. But if you don’t do that, how else are you going to stop it?”
Clifford spoke calmly. “I’m going to stop it through you.”
“Through me! Well, well! Do you mind telling me, Clifford, just how I am going to do it?”
“You have some influence over Mary Regan; I don’t pretend to know what it is. You go to her to-morrow and you tell her, saying whatever is necessary to bring her around, that she can’t go through with the marriage. Then she breaks it off—and not the Mortons, and they’ll not be any the wiser about her.”
“Well, well, you certainly do seem to think I have a very strong influence with the ladies,” Loveman said blandly. “Very flattering, I assure you. But supposing—all we’ve been talking about is mere supposition, you know—supposing I have a mild disinclination to do what you propose?”
“Supposing that,” Clifford returned grimly, “then I go to Mr. Morton, tell him about Mary Regan, and tell him the whole thing was your plan. And he’ll believe what I say about you, Loveman; I’ve merely got to remind him that you suggested Pine Mountain Lodge, prove to him that you knew Mary Regan was there, prove to him that you’ve been seeing Mary Regan in New York, and he’ll swallow everything else. Result, the present scheme of you and Bradley goes smash, and, further, you lose all future business with your best-paying client.”
“Supposing, on the other hand,” Loveman remarked in his same bland voice, “that I have no disinclination to do what you suggest?”
“In that case, you only lose out on your present plan. I’m not interested in Morton. You keep his business. You see, Loveman, I’ve got you: and what I’m offering is the best proposition for you.”
Loveman gently stroked his crown. “Clifford, do you believe in fairies?”
“Where does that come in?”