And, if she cared for the boy
wouldn't that be best for her? What had he to offer against that?
He couldn't marry. He could only offer her shelter, against
everything else. Even then he did not dislike McLean. He was a
man, every slender inch of him, this boy musician. Peter's heart
sank, but he put down his pipe and turned to the door.
"I'll call her," he said. "But, since this concerns me very
vitally, I should like to be here while you put the thing to her.
After that if you like--"
He called Harmony. She had given Jimmy his supper and was
carrying out a tray that seemed hardly touched.
"He won't eat to-night," she said miserably. "Peter, if he stops
eating, what can we do? He is so weak!"
Peter, took the tray from her gently.
"Harry dear," he said, "I want you to come into the salon. Some
one wishes to speak to you."
"To me?"
"Yes. Harry, do you remember that evening in the kitchen when--Do
you recall what I promised?"
"Yes, Peter."
"You are sure you know what I mean?"
"Yes."
"That's all right, then. McLean wants to see you."
She hesitated, looking up at him.
"McLean? You look so grave, Peter. What is it?"
"He will tell you. Nothing alarming."
Peter gave McLean a minute alone after all, while he carried the
tray to the kitchen. He had no desire to play watchdog over the
girl, he told himself savagely; only to keep himself straight
with her and to save her from McLean's impetuosity.
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