"No, it is not favouritism. I'm a deliberate person, Mrs. Marks. I like to test people, to be sure. And now—I think—I'm very nearly sure."
Her face softened.
"He's killing himself. He won't give in."
"As bad as that?"
"It's pride."
"I am glad you have told me. I like to trust people. Do you think that unwise?"
She met his steady eyes, and began to wonder why she had doubted.
"No, not in his case. You see, he has got an object, sir, something outside himself that matters."
"The boy. Exactly. I loathe distrusting people. I wanted to be sure. Now,—listen."
He came and stood near to her, his hands in his pockets, and with an intimate, wise air.
"I wanted that other man to have his chance. I had my reasons. Naturally—I want very good reasons for taking his chance away. The very strongest reason"
"You mean—that other affair, sir?"
"I do."
She knew that he was asking her to help him, not ungenerously, but rather to take sides against his own too human kindness. It meant a kicking into the street of a memory, an obligation, and the man to whom he owed it. He had always confessed to a fondness for "the old blackguard." But not for a mean and bullying blackguard.
"So you see—I want my reason, my justification. I suppose it is weak of me."
She stood with a hand along one cheek, looking down at the pattern of the carpet, but her eyes did not see the carpet.
"I'm sitting up to-night, Mr. Roland."
"You think it—necessary?"
"Oh,—I heard something. The girl. Besides, in a way—l feel myself responsible."
"To whom?"
"To my job. I'm not a prude, sir. Oh,—I know they have every right—if a man and a girl are made that way. But there—there is what I am here for. It's not fair"
