why he is
every inch a man; and so I like him, Miss Landis. Do you wonder?"

She did not reply.

"Do you wonder?" he repeated sharply.

"No," she said.

"Then--" He straightened up, and the silent significance of his waiting
attitude was plain enough to her.

But she shook her head impatiently, saying: "I don't know whose dance
it is, and I don't care. Please go on. It is--is pleasant. I like Mr.
Siward; I like to hear men speak of him as you do. I like you for doing
it. If you should ever come to care for my friendship that is the best
passport to it--your loyalty to Mr. Siward."

"No man can truthfully speak otherwise than I have spoken," he said
gravely.

"No, not of these things. But--you know w-what is--is usually said when
his name comes up among men."

"Do you mean about his habits?" he asked simply.

"Yes. Is it not an outrage to drag in that sort of thing? It angers me
intensely, Mr. Plank. Why do they do it? Is there a single one among
them qualified to criticise Mr. Siward? And besides, it is not true any
more! ... is it?--what was once said of him with--with some truth? Is it?"

The dull red blood mantled Plank's heavy visage. The silence grew
grim as he did his slow, laborious thinking, the while his eyes,
expressionless and almost opaque in the dim light, never left her's,
until, under the unchanging, merciless inspection, the mask dropped for
an instant from her anxious face, and he saw what he saw.

He was no fool. What he had come to believe she at last had only
confirmed; and now the question became simple: was she worth
enlightening? And by what title did she demand his confidence?

"You ask me if it is true any more. You mean about his habits. If I
answer you it is because I cannot be indifferent to what concerns him.
But before I answer I ask you this: Would your interest in his fortunes
matter to him?"

She waited, head bent; then:

"I don't know, Mr. Plank," very low.

"Did your interest in his fortunes ever concern him?"

"Yes, once."

He looked at her sternly, his jaw squaring until his heavy under lip
projected. "Within my definition of friendship, is he your friend?"

"You mean he--"

"No, I mean you! I can answer for him. How is it with you? Do you return
what he gives--if there is really friendship between you? Or do you take
what he offers, offering nothing in return?"

She had turned rather white under the direct impact of the questions.
The jarring repetition of