“Nixy! and you know that even better than I do, dear. Why, Maida, what I love you most for—yes, even more than your dear, sweet, beauty of face, is the marvellous beauty of your nature, your character. Your flawless soul attracted me first of all—even as I saw it shining through your clear, honest eyes.” “Oh, Jeffrey,” and Maida’s clear eyes filled with tears, “I’m not honest, I’m not true blue!” “Then nobody on this green earth is! Don’t say such things, dear. I know what you mean, that you _think_ you want your father to sacrifice his principles, in part, at least, to gain his full pardon thereby. See how I read your thoughts! But, you don’t really think that; you only think you think it. If the thing came to a focus, you’d be the first one to forbid the slightest deviation from the line of strictest truth and honor!” “Oh, Jeff, do you think I would?” “Of course I think so—I know it! You are a strange make-up, Maida. On an impulse, I can imagine you doing something wrong—even something pretty awful—but with even a little time for thought you _couldn’t_ do a wrong.” “What!” Maida was truly surprised; “I could jump into any sort of wickedness?” “I didn’t quite put it that way,” Jeff laughed, “but—well, you know it’s my theory, that given opportunity, anybody can yield to temptation.” “Nonsense! It’s a poor sort of honor that gives out at a critical moment!” “Not at all. Most people can resist anything—except temptation! Given a strong enough temptation and a perfect opportunity, and your staunchest, most conscientious spirit is going to succumb.” “I don’t believe that.” “You don’t have to—and maybe it isn’t always true. But it often is. Howsomever, it has no bearing on the present case. Your father is not going to lose his head—and though you might do so”—he smiled at her—“I can’t see you getting a chance! You’re not in on the deal, in any way, are you?” “No; except that Mr. Appleby asked me to use all my influence with father.” “Which you’ve done?” “Yes; but it made not the slightest impression.” “Of course not. I say, Maid, young Sam isn’t coming down here, is he?” “Not that I know of,” but Maida couldn’t help her rising color, for she knew what Allen was thinking. “Just let him try it, that’s all! Just let him show his rubicund countenance in these parts—if he wants trouble!” “Does anybody ever _want_ trouble?” Maida smiled a little. “Why, of course they do! Sometimes they want it so much that they borrow it!” “I’m not doing that! I’ve had it offered to me—in full measure, heaped up, pressed down, and running over.”