“The company that is to back your father.  Capital stock, twenty-five thousand dollars, one half paid up.  Your father to be employed as director of the laboratories at five thousand a year, with a fund of ten thousand to draw upon.  You to be employed as secretary and treasurer at fifteen hundred a year.  I will take the paid-up stock, and your father and you will have the privilege of buying it back at par within five years.  Do you follow me?”

“I think I understand,” was her unexpected reply.  Her replies were usually unexpected, like the expressions of her face and figure; she was continually comprehending where one would have said she would not, and not comprehending where it seemed absurd that she should not.  “Yes, I understand. . . .  What else?”

“Nothing else.”

She looked intently at him, and her eyes seemed to be reading his soul to the bottom.

“Nothing else,” he repeated.

“No obligation—­for money—­or—­for anything?”

“No obligation.  A hope perhaps.”  He was smiling with the gayest good humor.  “But not the kind of hope that ever becomes a disagreeable demand for payment.”

She seated herself, her hands in her lap, her eyes down—­a lovely picture of pensive repose.  He waited patiently, feasting his senses upon her delicate, aromatic loveliness.  At last she said: 

“I accept.”

He had anticipated an argument.  This promptness took him by surprise.  He felt called upon to explain, to excuse her acceptance.  “I am taking a little flyer—­making a gamble,” said he.  “Your father may turn up nothing of commercial value.  Again the company may pay big——­”

She gave him a long look through half-closed eyes, a queer smile flitting round her lips.  “I understand perfectly why you are doing it,” she said.  “Do you understand why I am accepting?”

“Why should you refuse?” rejoined he.  “It is a good business prop——­”

“You know very well why I should refuse.  But—­” She gave a quiet laugh of experience; it made him feel that she was making a fool of him—­“I shall not refuse.  I am able to take care of myself.  And I want father to have his chance.  Of course, I shan’t explain to him.”  She gave him a mischievous glance.  “And I don’t think you will.”

He contrived to cover his anger, doubt, chagrin, general feeling of having been outwitted.  “No, I shan’t tell him,” laughed he.  “You are making a great fool of me.”

“Do you want to back out?”

What audacity!  He hesitated—­did not dare.  Her indifference to him—­her personal, her physical indifference gave her the mastery.  His teeth clenched and his passion blazed in his eyes as he said:  “No—­you witch!  I’ll see it through.”

She smiled lightly.  “I suppose you’ll come to the offices of the company—­occasionally?” She drew nearer, stood at the corner of the desk.  Into her exquisite eyes came a look of tenderness.  “And I shall be glad to see you.”