“Ah!” murmured Mr. Lucas, experienced in human nature, and instantly guessing something of what he was to be told. “I am ready to listen, Miss Adair.”
“I was engaged to be married; I told you that I was to have been married at Christmas; I resigned for that date for that reason,” said Cis, plunging, without letting herself delay her confession. “Rod—Mr. Moore, the one I was to marry—begged me to give him a hint about the franchise. He had some money; he wanted to buy that stock if the franchise was going through. He swore he would not let a hint of it get beyond him; I’m sure he wouldn’t—”
“Why is everyone sure that everyone else will be more honorable in keeping a secret than he—or she—is?” asked Mr. Lucas dryly. “I see that you parted with mine.”
“Yes, Mr. Lucas, but indeed, indeed I held out long against it; I didn’t want to do it; I’ve always been quite straight,” cried Cis. “But Rod begged so hard; he told me that I was standing between him and success. I didn’t mind scolding, but when he was hurt—Well, at last I gave the hint he begged for, and I’ve been eating my heart out ever since. Now that you know, I’ll feel better, and of course I’ll go right away now; not wait till Christmas.”
“Just a moment, Miss Adair. I do not think we should be weak, any of us; it is the ideal to be granite shafts of principle, but the sweeter and truer the woman, the harder for her to resist the sort of plea made you. I can see that it was hard; if it had not cost you pain to yield you would not be confessing your misstep to me now. I must forgive it, Miss Adair; it was a hard pull, and I’ll credit you with resistance. It has not harmed me, you’ll be glad to know. I wondered, rather, why there were noticeable sales of that stock on a recent date; your lover must have had considerable to invest in it. That chapter is closed; put it out of your mind. Now, my child, you were sent me by my brother, as a friend, in a sense, of my niece Jeanette’s, and I have a greater interest in you than that of a mere employer. Will you let me express it in a question? You have spoken of your engagement, your marriage, in the past tense. Are you not still engaged, still to be married at Christmas?” Mr. Lucas asked his question gently, pity in his eyes.
“No, sir; it’s all over,” said Cis.
“Not because of this franchise matter? You’re not a morbid girl to do penance, and punish a man for a thing of that sort?” cried Mr. Lucas.
“No, Mr. Lucas,” said Cis. “Rod was married; I could not marry him. He was splendid; he told me about it. He was not going to tell me, but I love everything straight so much that after all he told me. And then we could not be married, you see. It was splendid; Rod was good, but still I could not go on with it.”
“Go on with it? Rod was splendid, you say? To tell you, to tell you he was married, after he had entrapped you into an engagement, into loving him as I see you loved him? Well, hardly splendid! He did stop short of crime, but to stop on the edge of bigamy, and to make a girl like you suffer! I’d hardly call that splendid!” cried Mr. Lucas fiercely.
“Bigamy?” repeated Cis. “Well, I don’t believe they call it that, but of course it is, if you stop to think. I hadn’t thought about it just that way. Rod was divorced; his wife was worse than dead, but she wasn’t dead. I suppose it is bigamy.”