"Nothing; there is nothing at all to be done," Brockway replied with gloomy emphasis.
"I suppose nothing would ever induce you to forgive her for being rich?"
"I can never quite forgive myself for being poor, since it's going to cost me so much."
"You are too equivocal for any use. Answer my question," snapped the small inquisitor.
"How can I?" Brockway inquired, with masculine density. "Forgiveness implies an injury, and----"
"Oh, _oh_--how stupid you can be when you try! You know perfectly well what I mean."
"I'm not sure that I do," said Brockway, whose wit was easily confounded by a sharp tongue.
"Then I'll put it in words of one syllable. Do you mean to ask Miss Vennor to be your wife?"
"Not if you knew she wanted you to?" persisted the small tormentor.
"Oh, I say--that couldn't be, you know," he protested. "I'm nothing more than a pleasant acquaintance to her, at the very most."
"We are not discussing ways and means; answer the question."
Thereat the man, tempted beyond what he could bear, abdicated in favor of the lover. "If I could be certain of that, Mrs. Burton--if I could be sure she loves me, nothing on earth should stand in the way of our happiness. Is that what you wanted me to say?"
The little lady clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I thought I could find the joint in your armor, after awhile. Now you may go; I want to be by myself and think. Good-night."
Brockway took the summary dismissal good-naturedly, and, as the train was just then slowing into a station, he ran out to drop off and catch the upcoming hand-rail of the Tadmor.
When Gertrude bade Brockway good-night, she changed places for the moment with a naughty child on its way to face the consequences of a misbehavior, entering the private car with a childish consciousness of wrong-doing fighting for place with a rather militant determination to meet reproof with womanly indifference. Much to her relief, she found her father alone, and there was no distinguishable note of displeasure in his greeting.
"Well, Gertrude, did you enjoy your little diversion? Sit down and tell me about it. How does the cab compare with the sitting-room of a private car?"
The greeting was misleading, but she saw fit to regard it as merely the handshaking which precedes a battle royal.