Sanderson stared vacantly back at her.
She held the letter up to him. "This is father's answer, telling the
man to come on. How on earth did you get hold of it?"
Sanderson had slumped down in his chair. He saw discovery and disgrace
in prospect. In the total stoppage of his thoughts no way of escape or
evasion suggested itself. At the outset he was to be exposed as a
miserable impostor.
He groaned, grinned vacuously at Mary, and again produced the
handkerchief, wiping away drops of perspiration that were twice as big
as those he had previously mopped off.
Mary continued to stare at him, repeating the question: "How did you
get it?"
Sanderson's composure began to return; his grin grew wider and more
intelligent, and at the sixth repetition of Mary's question he
answered, boldly:
"I wasn't goin' to tell you about that. You see, ma'am----"
"Mary!"
"You see, Mary, I was goin' to fool Brans--dad. I wrote, askin' him
for the job, an' I was intendin' to come on, to surprise him. But
before I told him who I was, I was goin' to feel him out, an' find out
what he thought of me.
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