A thousand thoughts, that seemed to scorch like fire, went rocketing through her brain. The thing was too much to be understood at once—it went too deep—it involved such possibilities. She must try to hold herself in check—try to be clever with this man.
"Oh," she said, dropping her eyes to her work, "and Glen is in it too?"
Bostwick was nervous. He sat down.
"Well, yes—to some extent—a little slice of mine," he faltered. "Naturally he has less than I've given to you."
"But—didn't he discover the opportunity—the chance?"
"Certainly not!" he declared vehemently. "It's all my doing—everything! Wholly my idea from the start!" The impulse to boast, to vaunt his cleverness, was not to be resisted. "I told Van Buren the game had only begun! He thought himself so clever!"
She clung to her point.
"But—of course you told me Glen had found the chance, requiring sixty thousand dollars."
"That was a different proposition—nothing to do with this. I've dropped that game entirely. This is big enough for us all!"
She looked the picture of unsophisticated innocence, sewing at a gaudy square of cloth.