But Wade had no illusions concerning Benson. The explanation he was urging Stephen to invite, he knew could explain nothing; but it might bring about a rupture with Benson, and then Virginia would have every motive for beginning suit at once; and Wade saw himself on the threshold of a great career, his plodding shyster days at an end.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
BUT to bring himself to the point where he could speak freely and without reserve to Benson, was more difficult even than Stephen had conceived it would be. With singular patience and tact, Wade left him alone with his purpose, and when they met, carefully avoided all allusion to the half-hearted promise Stephen had given him that day they left his aunt's.
The days wasted, and he did nothing. He would tell Benson some evening. But for a week Gibbs was a guest at dinner each night, and the opportunity was denied him. His courage grew cold, his self-imposed task became more and more difficult as he waited.
The responsibility he had assumed, imbittered him against his aunt, and he hated the very sight of Wade. Why had he ever been urged to this step! If Benson promptly turned him into the street, it would be no more than he might expect; certainly he should never question the justice of the act.
But at last his opportunity came. They were at last alone together. Gibbs had gone home from the office, and they had dined by themselves; now was his chance. But he was slow to avail himself of it. However, Benson himself furnished him with an opening. They had left the dinner-table and were seated in the library.
“Stephen,” he said quietly, “what was it that Crittendon sent your aunt, have you ever heard?”
Stephen started.