"Well, then, in some way," said the girl, dropping her voice still lower, "you are going to find that this work here won't be—it won't go—not just as you expect it to; it—it won't be just plain sailing as it ought to be and would be if you were let alone. There are things," she put a forceful accent on the last word, "that will interfere—oh, sometimes dreadfully, maybe, and I felt that I must tell you, but—"
Bill, wondering, glanced up at her; she stood with her pretty face turned away, a troubled look in her bright eyes, the usually smiling lips compressed with determination. The boy's quick wits began to fathom the drift of her intention and the cause thereof; he must know more to determine her precise attitude.
"I must believe that you mean this in real kindness and friendliness toward Gus and me."
"Of course I do; else I would not have told you a thing," Grace said, blushing a little.
"I think it must be something real and that you know. This thing, then, as you call it, is more likely a person—some person who is working against us. You mean that; don't you?"
"Please don't ask me too much. I think you're very quick and intelligent and that you'll find out and be on your guard."
"I think I understand. Naturally you must feel a certain loyalty toward a relation, or at least if not just that, toward one who has your father's good will. Gus and I surely appreciate your warning; you'll want me to tell him, of course."
"I don't know. Gus is not so cool-headed as you are; I was afraid he might—"
"Trust Gus. He and I work together in everything. And I do thank you,
Grace, more than I can express. Well keep our eyes open."