you shouldn't have thought it, since I was fool
enough to show it," said Barry after a moment, coming over to her desk
and facing her squarely. Sidney stood up, opposite him, her heart
beating wildly. "And I don't know why I shouldn't be jealous," he went
on steadily, "at the idea that some old friend might come in here and
take you away from Santa Paloma. You asked me if it was old Rogers'
going that made a difference to me--"

"I know," interrupted Sidney, scarlet-cheeked. "PLEASE"--

"But you know better than that," Barry went on, his voice rising a
little. "You know what you have done for me. If ever I try to speak of
it, you say, as you said about the kid just now, 'My dear boy, I like
to do it.' But I'm going to say what I mean now, once and for all. You
loaned me money, and it was through your lending it that I got credit
to borrow more; you gave me a chance to be my own master; you showed
you had faith in me; you reminded me of the ambition I had as a kid,
before Hetty and all that trouble had crushed it out of me; you came
down here to the office and talked and planned, and took it for granted
that I was going to pull myself together and stop idling, and kicking,
and fooling away my time; and all through these six weeks of rough
sailing, you've let me go up there to the Hall and tell you
everything--and then you wonder if I could ever be jealous!" His tone,
which had risen almost to violence, fell suddenly. He went back to his
desk and began to straighten the papers there, not seeing what he did.
"I never can say anything more to you, Sidney, I've said too much now,"
he said a little huskily; "but I'm glad to have you know how I feel."

Sidney stood quite still, her breath coming and going quickly. She was
fundamentally too honest a woman to meet the situation with one of the
hundred insincerities that suggested themselves to her. She knew she
was to blame, and she longed to undo the mischief, and put their
friendship back where it had been only an hour ago. But the right words
did not suggest themselves, and she could only stand silently watching
him. Barry had opened a book, and, holding it in both hands, was
apparently absorbed in its contents.

Neither had spoken or moved, and Sidney was meditating a sudden,
wordless departure, when Ellen Burgoyne burst noisily into the room.
Ellen was a square, splendid child, always conversationally inclined,
and never at a loss for a subject.

"You look as if you wa