"You say that so serenely that I guess you don't understand yet just what they'd be."
"I do—I do, perfectly. My father and I have talked it all over. We know it will be terrible; and yet it would be more terrible still to let some one else pay our debts. I dare say you think me monstrous, but—"
"I think you mistaken. I don't want to say more than that. If I find Mr. Guion of the same opinion—"
"I see. You don't consider my word sufficient."
"Your word is all right, Miss Guion," he tried to laugh. "What you lack is authority. My dealings are with your father. I can't settle anything with—a substitute."
She colored swiftly. "I don't presume to settle anything. I only thought I might give you some necessary information. I hoped, too, to save you a little trouble in sparing you the walk to Tory Hill."
He looked away from her, his eyes wandering up the reach of the river, over which the long, thin, many-oared college craft shot like insects across a pool.
"Why should you be so bent on seeing your father follow Jack Berrington, when it could be avoided?"
"Why should you care? What difference does it make to you? If you'd only explain that—"
"It explains itself. If I saw a woman leap into the river there I should pull her out. The more she insisted on being drowned, the more I should try to save her."