"There's no somehow about it," I had to smile at this question. "He either is, or isn't; in the same indefeasible sense that white isn't black."
"I didn't mean that he might be just partly, of course," she said so quietly and seriously that I burst out laughing. "But it's awfully hard to understand, all at once! That must account for the subtle antagonism I felt for him. It really accounts for so much!—for the way he encouraged me to spend money, heaps and heaps of it! Why, I've everything I can think of—from Havana, New Orleans and Vera Cruz!"
"He wanted you to spend his large bills so he could get good money in change," I suggested.
"That's obvious now, but suppose I'd been arrested and sent to prison!"
"I won't suppose anything of the kind," I declared, so vigorously that she laughed.
"I do feel like a thief, though," she added soberly. "Why, everything I possess has been bought fraudulently."
"You couldn't help it! Chuck 'em away, if it'll make you feel better!"
"I can't chuck 'em all away," and this time we both laughed.
"You can as soon as we reach New York, and—and——" But as I did not know how to finish this, I stopped; for what had been in my mind was: "When you and I share all I own!"—and, of course, that wouldn't have done to say aloud.
For perhaps a minute she, also, was silent. Then she turned, with the frankest, sweetest manner I have ever seen, and said in a voice of mellifluent charm: