Backing away from the stairway, he stood on a rug in the middle of the hall, his head hung like a young bull about to charge.
"What made you think of it?"
"Isn't that obvious? After you've done so much for me—"
"I haven't done anything for you, Miss Guion. I've said so a good many times. It wouldn't be right for me to take payment for what you don't owe me. Besides, there's nothing I want."
"That is to say," she returned, coldly, "you prefer the rôle of benefactor. You refuse to accept the little I might be able to do. I admit that it isn't much—but it's something—something within my power, and which I thought you might like. But since you don't—"
"It's no question of liking; it's one of admitting a principle. If you offer me a penny it's in part payment for a pound, while I say, and say again, that you don't owe me anything. If there's a debt at all it's your father's—and it's not transferable."
"Whether it's transferable or not is a matter that rests between my father and me—and, of course, Colonel Ashley, if I marry him."
He looked at her with sudden curiosity. "Why do you always say that with—an 'if'?"
She reflected an instant. "Because," she said, slowly, "I can't say it in any other way."
He straightened himself; he advanced again to the foot of the stairway.