“If he really loves her, the circumstances of the cue are altered,” was the diplomatic answer.
“And if he does not? If it is, as I suspect, a mere flirtation—what then?”
“Then I think you should leave the matter to me, to act with my discretion,” young Barclay replied. He recollected that Charlie was Marion’s brother, and he saw himself already in a somewhat difficult position. “My own idea is,” he went on, “that it is something more than a mere flirtation, and that the reason of the secret meetings is because he fears to ask your consent to be allowed to pay court to your daughter.”
“What makes you think so?”
“From some words that his sister Marion let drop the other day.”
“Ah! Marion is a sweet and charming girl,” the elder man declared. “What a pity she should be compelled to drudge in a shop!”
“Yes,” replied Max, quickly. “It is a thousand pities. She’s far too refined and good for that life.”
“A matter of unfortunate necessity, I suppose.”
Necessity! Max Barclay bit his lips when he recollected how very easily she might leave that shop-life if she would only accept money from him. But how could she? How could he offer it to her without insult?
No. Until she consented to be his wife she must still remain there, at the beck and call of every irritating tradesman’s wife who cared to enter the department to purchase a ready-made costume or a skirt “with material for bodice.”