“A man must be a fool if he can’t run a farm,” he said roughly.
“Many folks labour under that mistake,” the girl replied. Then: “Say, when are you going to do this thing?”
“Strangely enough, the critical moment will come two days after our marriage. Let’s see. This is Monday. We are to be married to-morrow week. That will make it Thursday week.”
The girl sat herself up on the sofa, and her young face expressed dismay.
“Right in the middle of our honeymoon. Oh, Leslie!”
“It can’t be helped, dearest. I shall only be away from you for that afternoon and the night. Think of what it means to me. Everything.”
“Ah, yes.” She sank back again upon the sofa. There was the faintest glimmer of a smile in the depths of her dark eyes. “I forgot what it meant to you.”
The unconscious irony of her words fell upon stony ground.
Prudence Malling was deeply in love with Leslie Grey. How few men fully appreciate the priceless treasure of a good woman’s regard.
“If I bring this off it means immediate promotion,” Grey went on, in his blindly selfish way. “I must succeed. I hate failure.”