He could hear the conversation within, but it was
only toward the end that it interested him.
"Ovid," said Pansy, "you've been hanging around my counter a good
deal--and asking me to dinners, and to go driving on Sunday. What for?"
"Because--because I liked you awful well, Pansy, but now--now that I've
done this--"
"If you hadn't done this? If you had made money instead of losing it?"
"I--oh, what's the use of talking about it? I wanted you should marry
me, Pansy."
"But you don't want me any more?"
"Nobody'd marry me--knowing what you know."
"Ovid," said Pansy, sharply, "there's nothing wrong with you except
that--you haven't enough brains all by yourself. You need to be looked
after ...and I'm going to do it."
"Looked after?"
"Ovid Nixon, do you like me well enough to marry me?"
"I--"
"Do you? Yes or no ... quick!"
"Yes."
"Then ask me," said Pansy.
Presently the three emerged into the street from the deserted offices of
Mr. Peaney. Scattergood Baines held in his hands two thousand dollars in
bills, representing net profit on the transaction. He regarded the money
with a frown.
"Somethings got to be done to you to make you fit to tetch," he said to
it.
Pages:
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332