“Be good, auntie, or I'll make a match between you and Mr. Kenby,” threatened Edna. “Well, now that the best we can hope for about Davenport is that he went away with another man's money—”
“But I've told you the other man morally owed him that much money.”
“That won't make it any safer for him to come back to New York. And you know what's waiting for him if he does come back, unless he's got an awfully good explanation. And as for Florence's going to him, what chance is there now of ever finding out where he is? It would either be one of those impossible countries where there's no extradition, or a place where he'd always be virtually in hiding. What a horrid life! So I think if she isn't going to be miserable the rest of her days, it's time she tried to forget the absent.”
“I suppose you're right,” said Larcher.
“So I came in to say that I'm going to do all I quietly can to distract her thoughts from the past, and get her to look around her. If I see any way of preparing her mind to think well of Mr. Turl, I'll do it. And what I want of you is not to discourage him by any sort of hints or allusions—to Davenport, you understand.”
“Oh, I haven't been making any. I told him the mere fact, that's all. I'm neither for him nor against him. I have no right to be against him—and yet, when I think of poor Davenport, I can't bring myself to be for Turl, much as I like him.”
“All right. Be neutral, that's all I ask. How is Turl getting on with his plan of going to work?”
“Oh, he has excellent chances. He's head and shoulders above the ruck of black-and-white artists. He makes wonderfully good comics. He'll have no trouble getting into the weeklies, to begin with.”
“Is it settled yet, about that money of his in dispute?”
“I don't know. He hasn't spoken of it lately.”