Maida gasped. All her troubles removed at once—but at such a price! She thought of Allen, and a great wave of love surged over her. “Oh, I can’t—I can’t,” she moaned. “What _are_ you, Mr. Appleby? I love my chosen mate, my _fiancé_, Jeffrey Allen. Would you ask me to give him up and marry your son, whom I esteem highly, but do not love?” “Certainly; I ask just that. You are free to say yes or no!” “Then, I say no. There _must_ be some other way! Give me some other chance, even though it be a harder one!” “All right, I will.” Mr. Appleby’s face was hard now, his lips set in a straight line; he was about to play his last card. “All right, I will. Here it is. The other heir, of whom I spoke to you the other day, is Curtis Keefe.” “Mr. Keefe!” “Yes—but wait—he doesn’t know it. I hit upon a clue in his chance reference to his mother’s family, and unknown to him I investigated genealogies and all that, and it is positive, he is the heir to all this estate, and not your mother.” “You’re sure?” “Yes, absolutely certain. But, remember, he doesn’t know it. He has no idea of such a thing. Now, if you’ll marry Sam, Keefe shall _never_ know. I’ll burn all the papers that I have in evidence. You and I will forget the secret, and your father and mother can rest in undisturbed possession here for the rest of their lives.” “And you wouldn’t insist on father’s campaign work?” “If you marry my son, I rather think your father will lend his aid—at least in some few matters, without urging. But he shall not be urged beyond his wishes, rest assured of that. In a word, Maida, all that you want or desire shall be yours except your choice of a husband. And I’ll wager that inside of a year, you’ll be wondering what you ever saw in young Allen, and rejoicing that you are the wife of the governor instead!” “I can’t do it—oh, _I can’t!_ And, then, too, there’s Mr. Keefe—and the heirship!” “Mr. Keefe and the airship!” exclaimed Curtis Keefe himself, as he came round the corner and met them face to face. “Am I to go up in an airship? And when?” Appleby flashed a quick glance at Maida, which she rightly interpreted to mean to let Keefe rest unenlightened as to his error. “You’re not the Mr. Keefe we meant,” said Appleby, smiling at his secretary. “There are others.” And then Appleby walked away, feeling his best plan was to let Maida think things over. “What Keefe is going up in an airship?” Curt insisted, his curiosity aroused. “I don’t know,” said Maida, listlessly. “Mr. Appleby was telling me some airship yarn. I didn’t half listen. I—I can’t bear that man!” “I can’t blame you for that, Miss Wheeler. But we’re going away to-morrow, and he’ll be out of your way.” “No; he has me in a trap. He has arranged it so—oh, what am I saying!” “Don’t go on, if you feel you might regret it. Of course, as Mr. Appleby’s confidential secretary, I know most of his affairs. May I say that I’m very sorry for you, and may I offer my help, if you can use me in any way?”