Jefferson made no reply. He understood what she meant. He hung his head and hit viciously with his walking stick at the pebbles that lay at his feet. She went on:
“I know everything now. It was foolish of me to think that Mr. Ryder would ever help us.”
“I can't help it in any way,” blurted out Jefferson. “I have not the slightest influence over him. His business methods I consider disgraceful—you understand that, don't you, Shirley?”
The girl laid her hand on his arm and replied kindly:
“Of course, Jeff, we know that. Come up and sit down.”
He followed her on the porch and drew up a rocker beside her.
“They are all out for a walk,” she explained.
“I'm glad,” he said frankly. “I wanted a quiet talk with you. I did not care to meet anyone. My name must be odious to your people.”
Both were silent, feeling a certain awkwardness. They seemed to have drifted apart in some way since those delightful days in Paris and on the ship. Then he said:
“I'm going away, but I couldn't go until I saw you.”