Florence did not confess that, on the evening in question, she had misgivings herself.
The Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer sat in his library reading a ponderous legal document. It was full of knotty points requiring deep thinking, and the Hon. Nathaniel was breathing deeply and thinking deeply when the door was opened quietly and a young girl looked in. She stood for a moment regarding the reader.
The man finished reading the page before noticing the speaker.
“I am always busy, Maude, except when asleep, and I sometimes think my subliminal consciousness is active then.”
Maude's inclination was to say “Oh, my!” but she repressed the ejaculation.
“I can give you a few minutes, Maude, if the subject is an important one. Come in.”
Maude entered, seated herself, folded her hands in her lap and regarded her father as a disobedient pupil would a teacher.
The Hon. Nathaniel was listening attentively.
“Repetition is effective if not indulged in to excess. I often use it in my arguments before juries.”
Maude flushed. She was particularly sensitive to sarcasm, but could stand any amount of good-natured raillery.
The Hon. Nathaniel readjusted his glasses and regarded the speaker.
“It must be a clandestine attachment. I am not aware of meeting any gentleman who declared any desire to make you his wife. At whose house have you met your intended? I have no reason to suspect your Aunt Ella owing to her absence in Europe.”
“I've never been to anybody's house. I've walked with him on the Common and in the Public Garden.”
“Ah, two parks frequented by the elite of the city.”
Maude resented his last remark. “Just as good people as I am go there.”
“Do you mean that you are no better than those who go there?”
His voice was stern. Maude saw that she had made a mistake. “Some of them,” she said in a low voice.
“Who is the favoured gentleman? Have I the honour of his acquaintance?”
“Why, yes, you've met him. It's Harry, I mean Mr. Merry.”
“The young man who was Quincy's private secretary. Quincy wished me to take him into my office, but he never appeared in person.”
“He's with Mr. Curtis Carter on Tremont Street. Mr. Carter was one of Quincy's most intimate friends.”
“And Mr. Merry preferred going to one of Quincy's friends, than to me, and criminal cases rather than civil procedure. Mr. Carter revels in murder trials. But why has this young man failed to consult me on a matter so greatly affecting your future? Why have you assumed the initiative? This is not leap year.”