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Third, I
am fond of children, and--and--your daughter is a very pleasant,
intelligent child. Fourth, you have insisted on selling me an interest
in your invention, in return for a small loan, and that fact would draw
me here, if nothing else did. These are motives enough to satisfy the
most inquisitive mind, I should think."
Marcus said this with an attempt at a light laugh. But there was one
motive not yet confessed--a motive which could hardly be called a
motive, for it lay dim and half-formed within his brain. He had never,
in his moments of self-inquisition, acknowledged its existence to
himself. How could he, then, venture to disclose it to another? It was
the suppression of this immature motive, that brought back that look of
deceit and guilt to Marcus Wilkeson's ingenuous face.
This unfortunate physiognomical revelation was not lost upon the keen
eyes of the inventor. But he said:
"Mr. Wilkeson, let us not say another word on this ridiculous subject. I
am ashamed of myself for showing you the letter. I ought to have thrown
it into the fire.


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