"Why, except about the contracts to do the work for the independents at fifteen cents—that's all."
"You—you told them that!" the astounded husband gasped. He whirled toward Morton. "Why, it isn't so, Mr. Morton—not a word of it! You must realize that it isn't—that it couldn't be so."
Morton, however, was not convinced by the earnestness of the young man's repudiation. Instead, he looked his host up and down with a sneering scrutiny that was infinitely galling.
"I see," he said harshly, "that you're just like your father before you. He could always manage to contrive some way by which to accomplish his ends, without being over-troubled with scruples. Only, he would never have confided his business secrets to a woman."
Hamilton turned reproachful eyes on his wife.
"Cicily," he cried entreatingly, "I want you to tell Mr. Morton—"
But that resourceful woman interrupted him. Her face showed a shocked amazement, as she spoke swiftly:
"Charles, do you mean that you want me to—?" She did not finish the sentence; but the inference was so plain that Morton did not hesitate to make use of it.