Sylvia gave a cry of horror. “Frank!”
“If there’s a contest, it’ll be war and no quarter.”
“But would they do such a thing as that?”
“They would do it,” said Frank, grimly. “So my first impulse was to refuse. But I rather thought you’d want me to run. For you see, I’ll have that old scandal all my life, whatever I try to do; and I suppose you won’t let me keep out of everything.”
“But, Frank, how will they know about your father?”
“Lord, Sylvia, don’t you suppose with all the social climbing there is in this place, they’ve had that morsel long ago? There are fellows here from the South—your cousin, for one. It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m a nobody; but if I set out to beat the ‘Gold Coast crowd’—then you’d see!”
It was amusing to Frank to see how her eyes blazed. “Oh, I ought to stay to help you!” she exclaimed. “If it only weren’t for father!”
“Don’t worry, Sylvia. I wouldn’t let you stay for anything. I don’t want you mixed up in such affairs.”
“But, Frank, think what it would mean! What a blow to the system you hate! And I could pull you through—you needn’t laugh, I really could! There are so many men I could manage!”
But Frank went on laughing. “Honey,” he said, “you’ve done quite enough—too much—already. How are you going to pay van Tuiver for what he’s done?”