“Silly sentimental little fool,” commented Mrs. Parsons. “Just the kind of wife Ben could have been counted on to pick out.”
“Men usually marry to please themselves.” Craige laughed. “Ben telephoned me an hour ago and said that he was coming around to see you—”
“What about?”
“He did not state.” Craige looked at her in surprise, abruptness was not usual with her. “He may come at any moment—” glancing at his watch. It lacked five minutes of the hour. “I stopped at the bank this morning and President Walsh said he would accept your note for two thousand dollars provided you have collateral—”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Parsons colored deeply. “In fact, I am not sure that I shall need the loan from the bank. I was only temporarily embarrassed until my property in San Francisco is sold. To-day,” she paused, “I have arranged another matter satisfactorily. It is kind of you, Charles, very kind, to handle my business for me.”
“My dearest Cecelia—” Craige laid his hand on hers. “I am happiest when I serve you.”
Her eyes sparkled with a hint of tears. “I am grateful,” she murmured. “You have been so good, so very good since I came to Washington.”
“Cecelia!” Craige bent forward impulsively, but she drew away from his embrace.
“Not now, dear,” she protested. “You know you promised—”