“I fear the old gentleman would make a mess of the business if my guiding hand should be withdrawn, and at his age—consider the sheltered life you have led, the ease and comfort and luxury and freedom from financial worry! Maisie, it would be a sorry mess, indeed.”
“So you have concluded to hang on, eh, Dan?”
He nodded. “And while hanging on I hang back, like a balky mule on his halter.”
“‘Go not, like the quarry slave, scourged to his dungeon,’” she quoted bitterly. “Nevertheless, I fail to see why a nice consideration of my—of our—comfort should deter you from seeking your own happiness.”
“Why, Maisie, you know very well I’m terribly fond of you.”
“Indeed, Dan! This is the first official knowledge I have had of it, although, of course, I have for years suspected that you and I were very dear friends. However, Dan, my friendship is not one that demands great sacrifices. I—I——”
Tears blurred her eyes and her voice choked, but she recovered her poise quickly. With averted face she said: “I’m sure, my dear Dan, I would much prefer to see you painting your pictures than serving as a sacrifice on the altar of your—of our—friendship.”
“I think I might be able to glean a certain melancholy happiness from the sacrifice,” he protested.
“Dan Pritchard, you are exasperatingly dull today. I dislike being under obligation to anybody.”
He held up a deprecating hand. “You know, Maisie, I have always given you my fullest confidence, as I would to a sister. And I do this in the belief that you will understand perfectly. My dear girl, I am not complaining because I have to stick by this business. I am merely voicing my disappointment at the impossibility of taking the sort of vacation I had planned. If I——”