Finally, accepting all this, she resolved to put the whole thing out of her mind for the moment. Her parents were so intimately acquainted with her every mood or shade of demeanor, they would see at once that something was troubling her mind, unless she used the utmost care to prevent it. Care, too, not to overdo her precaution. It would be quite as evident that she was concealing something, if she were unusually gay or carefree of manner.
So the poor child went downstairs, determined to forget utterly the news she had heard, until such time as she could be again by herself.
And she succeeded. Though haunted by a vague sense of being deceitful, she behaved so entirely as usual, that neither of her parents suspected her of pretense.
Moreover, the subject of Samuel Appleby’s visit was such a fruitful source of conversation that there was less chance of minor considerations.
“Never will I consent,” her father was reiterating, as Maida entered the room. “Why, Sara, I’d rather have the conditional pardon rescinded, rather pay full penalty of my conviction, than stand for the things young Sam’s campaign must stand for!”
A clenched fist came down on the table by way of emphasis.
“Now, dad,” said Maida, gaily, “don’t thump around like that! You look as if you’d like to thump Mr. Appleby!”
“And I should! I wish I could bang into his head just how I feel about it——”
“Oh, he knows!” and Mrs. Wheeler smiled. “He knows perfectly how you feel.”
“But, truly, mother, don’t you think dad could—well, not do anything wrong—but just give in to Mr. Appleby—for—for my sake?”
“Maida—dear—that is our only stumbling-block. Your father and I would not budge one step, for ourselves—but for you, and for Jeffrey—oh, my dear little girl, that’s what makes it so hard.”
“For us, then—father, can’t you—for our sake——”
Maida broke down. It wasn’t for her sake she was pleading—nor for the sake of her lover. It was for the sake of her parents—that they might remain in comfort—and yet, comfort at the expense of honesty? Oh, the problem was too great—she hadn’t worked it out yet.
“I can’t think,” her father’s grave voice broke in on her tumultuous thoughts. “I can’t believe, Maida, that you would want my freedom at the cost of my seared conscience.”
