"These are past days, Mon," he said, in his decided fashion. "We have to do with errors, faults of the present. I must get to work at once to repair something of the damage I have done. You employed detectives. Who?"
"The Redtown Agency."
"Good. I will see them at once. You must dine alone tonight. I will report later."
The man moved suddenly across to his desk, and one hand fell heavily upon the carved mahogany of it. He looked across into the face of the woman he loved, and the fire of a great purpose shone in his eyes.
"Thank God I am the rich man I am!" he cried. "Thank God for the power of wealth. You shall see, Mon, you shall see! Leave me now, for I must—work. Hark!"
The deep note of the dinner gong rang out its opulent song in the hall.
"Dinner!" Hendrie remained standing. "You had better go—now."
Monica reluctantly moved toward the door and opened it.
"Very well, dear," she said. "You will tell me all you have done—later. Thank God, there is no more need for secrecy between us."
The brilliant light of the hall silhouetted her figure as she stood. But for once, though his eyes took in every detail of the picture she made, Alexander Hendrie remained wholly unappreciative.