"Who are a trifle tinctured--and with what?" he asked.
She smiled languidly.
"That is scarcely worthy of you, Guy," she remarked. "You are aiming
at--windmills; at least, I think you are not suddenly gone stupid.
However, you do not need to answer. Mrs. Clephane, you think, is not
tinctured, and you know that I have been--several shades deep. In other
words, she surpasses me in your estimation in the petty matter of
morals. So be it; you're no fool, and a pretty woman cannot blind you to
the facts for long. Then we shall see which you prefer. The woman who
is honest about the tincture, or the woman who is not. Now let us drop
the matter, and attend strictly to business until such time as the
present business is ended,--and Mrs. Clephane appears as she is."
"So be it!" Harleston replied heartily, "We understand each other,
Madeline."
"Yes, we understand each other," she said laconically, as the car drew
in to the curb.
"So well, indeed," he continued, as he gave her his hand to the
sidewalk, "that I have to arrange for you to meet the Secretary of State
at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
"Where?" said she, looking at him narrowly.
"In his office. You would like to meet him, Madeline?"
"I don't know what your play is," she laughed, "but I'll meet him--and
take my chances.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207