"You said then that it was your wish also," again interrupted Lucy. "Or affected to say it."
"Your wish for it cannot be as hearty as mine," he impulsively answered. "I pray for it night and day."
And Lucy could not well mistake the emotional earnestness. She believed him there.
"Well, I thought I saw a chance of it," he resumed, "and I went to get some information, that I fancied might help me, from Plunkett and Plunkett--"
"Is it fitting that you should give these details to me?" she haughtily interposed.
"I wish you to understand that I am doing my best. Plunkett and Plunkett could not give me the information: but they directed me to some people where I might obtain it. To enable me to see one of these people, I had to stay in town all night; and that was the reason of my not getting home."
Lucy had taken a spray of jessamine from her waistband, and stood pulling it to pieces, listening with an air of indifference.
"I do not really know more than I did before I went to town, as to whether or not the Maze can be left empty," he went on. "But I have a good hope of it. I think I may be able to accomplish it, though perhaps not quite immediately. It may take time."
"As you please, of course," answered Lucy coldly. "It is nothing to me."
Karl Andinnian had one of the sweetest tempers in the world, and circumstances had taught him patience and endurance. But he felt grieved to his very heart at her cutting indifference, and for once his spirit rebelled against it.