“This isn’t a small town out West,” explained he.  “It’s New York.  People misunderstand—­or rather—­” He gave her a laughing, mischievous glance—­“or rather—­they don’t.”

“I can’t see anything to make a mystery about,” declared the girl.  “Why, you act as if there were something to be ashamed of in coming to see me.”

He was observing her sharply.  How could a girl live in the New York atmosphere several years without getting a sensible point of view?  Yet, so far as he could judge, this girl was perfectly honest in her ignorance.  “Don’t be foolish,” said he.  “Please accept the fact as I give it to you.  You mustn’t let people see everything.”

She made no attempt to conceal her dislike for this.  “I won’t be mixed up in anything like that,” said she, quite gently and without a suggestion of pique or anger.  “It makes me feel low—­and it’s horribly common.  Either we are going to be friends or we aren’t.  And if we are, why, we’re friends whenever we meet.  I’m not ashamed of you.  And if you are ashamed of me, you can cut me out altogether.”

His color deepened until his face was crimson.  His eyes avoided hers.  “I was thinking chiefly of you,” he said—­and he honestly thought he was speaking the whole truth.

“Then please don’t do so any more,” said she, turning to go.  “I understand about New York snobbishness.  I want nothing to do with it.”

He disregarded the danger of the door being opened at any moment.  He rushed to her and took her reluctant hand.  “You mustn’t blame me for the ways of the world.  I can’t change them.  Do be sensible, dearest.  You’re only going to be here a few days longer.  I’ve got that plan for you and your father all thought out.  I’ll put it through at once.  I don’t want the office talking scandal about us—­do you?”

She looked at him pityingly.  His eyes fell before hers.  “I know it’s a weakness,” he said, giving up trying to deceive her and himself.  “But I can’t help it.  I was brought up that way.”

“Well—­I wasn’t.  I see we can never be friends.”

What a mess he had made of this affair!  This girl must be playing upon him.  In his folly he had let her see how completely he was in her power, and she was using that power to establish relations between them that were the very opposite of what he desired—­and must have.  He must control himself.  “As you please,” he said coldly, dropping her hand.  “I’m sorry, but unless you are reasonable I can do nothing for you.”  And he went to his desk.

She hesitated a moment; as her back was toward him, he could not see her expression.  Without looking round she went out of his office.  It took all his strength to let her go.  “She’s bluffing,” he muttered.  “And yet—­perhaps she isn’t.  There may be people like that left in New York.”  Whatever the truth, he simply must make a stand.  He knew women; no woman had the least respect for a man who let her rule—­and this woman, relying upon his weakness for her, was bent upon ruling.  If he did not make a stand, she was lost to him.  If he did make a stand, he could no more than lose her.  Lose her!  That thought made him sick at heart.  “What a fool I am about her!” he cried.  “I must hurry things up.  I must get enough of her—­must get through it and back to my sober senses.”