He had set his heart upon winning her—he had vowed that nothing should stand in the way of her becoming his wife, and now this—the worst of all things—had happened, to compromise him in her eyes, and he secretly breathed the fiercest anathemas upon the head of the marplot who had just left them.
Later that evening, Emil Correlli took the first opportunity to explain the unfortunate contretemps to the wondering Edith. He stated that the girl was the daughter of an Italian florist, who had audaciously presumed to dun him for a small bill he owed her father for floral purchases.
This matter, satisfactorily explained, as he thought, he renewed his protestations of love to Edith, solicited her hand in marriage, and was staggered by her emphatic refusal.
Her refusal was reported to Mrs. Goddard by that lady's brother, and she counseled him to be patient.
"I have in mind," she said, "the germ of a most cunning plot, which must succeed in your winning Edith Allen," and then she proceeded to unfold her plan, which, for boldness, craft, and ingenuity, would have been worthy of a French intriguante of the seventeenth century.
"Anna, you are a trump!" Emil Correlli exclaimed, admiringly, when she concluded. "If you can carry that out as you have planned it, it will be a most unique scheme—the best thing of its kind on record!"
"I can carry it out if you will let me do it in my own way; only you must take yourself off. I will not have you here to run the risk of spoiling everything," said Mrs. Goddard, with a determined air.
"Very well, then; I will go this very night. I will take the eleven o'clock express on the B. and A. I have such faith in your genius that I am willing to be guided wholly by you, and trust my fate entirely in your hands."
"I can write you from time to time, as the plan develops," she replied, "and send you instructions regarding the final act."
"All right, go ahead—I give you carte blanche for your expenses," said Monsieur Correlli, as he rose to leave the room.