“You have some influence over Mary Regan; I don’t pretend to know what it is. You go to her to-morrow and you tell her, saying whatever is necessary to bring her around, that she can’t go through with the marriage. Then she breaks it off--and not the Mortons, and they’ll not be any the wiser about her.” “Well, well, you certainly do seem to think I have a very strong influence with the ladies,” Loveman said blandly. “Very flattering, I assure you. But supposing--all we’ve been talking about is mere supposition, you know--supposing I have a mild disinclination to do what you propose?” “Supposing that,” Clifford returned grimly, “then I go to Mr. Morton, tell him about Mary Regan, and tell him the whole thing was your plan. And he’ll believe what I say about you, Loveman; I’ve merely got to remind him that you suggested Pine Mountain Lodge, prove to him that you knew Mary Regan was there, prove to him that you’ve been seeing Mary Regan in New York, and he’ll swallow everything else. Result, the present scheme of you and Bradley goes smash, and, further, you lose all future business with your best-paying client.” “Supposing, on the other hand,” Loveman remarked in his same bland voice, “that I have no disinclination to do what you suggest?” “In that case, you only lose out on your present plan. I’m not interested in Morton. You keep his business. You see, Loveman, I’ve got you: and what I’m offering is the best proposition for you.” Loveman gently stroked his crown. “Clifford, do you believe in fairies?” “Where does that come in?” “You ought to believe in fairies, Clifford. You really ought. With that imagination of yours, you’d coin money, writing fairy-stories for children--simply coin money.” He turned to Bradley. “What do you say to Clifford’s proposition?” “Tell him to go to hell!” said Bradley, his old hatred flaring out. “You’ll excuse Fido’s behavior, Clifford,” Loveman said apologetically. “He hasn’t had a biscuit all day.” “The real question is,” returned Clifford, “what does Peter Loveman say to the proposition?” “What do I say? Well, now, well,” Loveman said pleasantly, “you know I never did believe in fairies and so I can’t be expected to gulp down this remarkable little story you’ve told me. But since you are interested in Miss Regan, and are concerned that nothing goes wrong with her--why, for your sake, of course I’ll do it--I’ll do anything you say.” Clifford stared penetratingly at the round face, which never before looked more like the face of an amiable monk. Behind that amiable face was a swift thought that, after all, he might slip Nina Cordova into this situation and that he’d square matters with Nina the first thing in the morning. “You’ll do it to-morrow?” demanded Clifford.