“You mean—giving up my fortune?”
“Yes. By the terms of your father’s will you forfeit your inheritance if you marry against my wishes.”
“Well, what of it?” Evelyn shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “Thank God, money isn’t everything!”
“You are very young.” Mrs. Burnham smiled faintly. “In this case there is more than money involved; a crime and public scandal. Child!” For a second Mrs. Burnham’s composure deserted her. “You must be mad to desire to announce your engagement to a man whom your step-father charges with a heinous crime.”
“Charges can be disproved,” retorted Evelyn. “Mother,” she laid an imploring hand on her arm. “Mother, I assure you René is not guilty, no matter how much circumstantial evidence points to him; he no more killed that man than did Peter Burnham.”
Rapidly approaching footsteps caused Mrs. Burnham to turn abruptly and she welcomed Maynard’s entrance almost with eagerness.
“I have persuaded your husband to go to bed,” he said. “I think he will rest very comfortably. He has given me a prescription to fill for him; can you tell me where to find the nearest drug store which stays open all night?”
“I am afraid it is fully six blocks away, on Connecticut Avenue,” exclaimed Mrs. Burnham. “It is a shame to take you out at this hour of the night.”
“Not a bit of it.” Maynard nodded gayly at Evelyn. “Too bad you can’t stroll down town with me, Evelyn, the walk might do you good; not in that thin dress,” hastily. “Fortunately, to-night I was cast for an appropriate costume; uniforms are not conspicuous these days.”
“Our uniforms are always conspicuous,” rebuked Evelyn. “Just think of the gallant men wearing them.”