“Harmless enough, so far,” said the captain. “What next?”
“Nothing. The rest is my secret.”
The clouds on Captain Wragge’s countenance began to clear away again. He reverted, with his customary precision, to his customary choice of alternatives. “These inquiries of hers,” he thought, “mean one of two things—Mischief, or Money! If it’s Mischief, I’ll slip through her fingers. If it’s Money, I’ll make myself useful, with a view to the future.”
Magdalen’s vigilant eyes watched the progress of his reflections suspiciously. “Captain Wragge,” she said, “if you want time to consider, say so plainly.”
“I don’t want a moment,” replied the captain. “Place your departure from York, your dramatic career, and your private inquiries under my care. Here I am, unreservedly at your disposal. Say the word—do you take me?”
Her heart beat fast; her lips turned dry—but she said the word.
“I do.”
There was a pause. Magdalen sat silent, struggling with the vague dread of the future which had been roused in her mind by her own reply. Captain Wragge, on his side, was apparently absorbed in the consideration of a new set of alternatives. His hands descended into his empty pockets, and prophetically tested their capacity as receptacles for gold and silver. The brightness of the precious metals was in his face, the smoothness of the precious metals was in his voice, as he provided himself with a new supply of words, and resumed the conversation.
“The next question,” he said, “is the question of time. Do these confidential investigations of ours require immediate attention—or can they wait?”
“For the present, they can wait,” replied Magdalen. “I wish to secure my freedom from all interference on the part of my friends before the inquiries are made.”