Randall held his peace. He had the quality of presentiment and it was active now.
“There was still a third reason.” No smile in the blue eyes now, just an impassive blank. “I had a call a few days ago from an upper dog, by heredity. He offered me a thousand dollars cold not to do—what I’ve just done.”
Randall was not a good gambler. His face whitened to the lips.
“You refer to Margery’s father,” he said.
“Yes. It seemed to me well, under the circumstances, for you to know. He was strongly in favor of letting matters drift. I gathered he has never been particularly fond of you.”
“No, never. But Margery—”
“I understand absolutely. Take this for what it is worth from a disinterested observer: Your wife is square, man, from the ground up. Don’t ever for an instant, because you were reared differently and have a different point of view, fancy otherwise. Tote your end of the load fair—I believe you see how now—and she’ll tote hers. It’ll be worth your while.”
“Roberts!” Randall was upon his feet, he could not do otherwise. “Honestly I don’t know how to thank you. Anything that I can say, can do even—” 215
“Don’t try, please. I’d rather you wouldn’t.” No pretence in that frank aversion, no affectation. He arose as one whose labor is over. “Let it go at that.”
In sheer perplexity Randall frowned. His hands sought his pockets.