Johnson ignored the question. Anxious to hear her interpretation of the story, he requested her to continue.
“He loved a lady—” began the Girl, and broke off short. And going over to the book-shelf she took down a volume and began to finger the leaves absently. Presently she came back, and fixing her eyes upon him, she went on: “It made me think of it, what you said down to the saloon to-night about livin’ so you didn’t care what come after. Well, he made up his min’, this Dent—Dantes—that one hour o’ happiness with her was worth the whole da—” She checked the word on her tongue, and concluded: “outfit that come after. He was willin’ to sell out his chances for sixty minutes with ’er. Well, I jest put the book down an’ hollered.” And once more she broke into a hearty laugh.
“Of course you did,” agreed Johnson, joining in the laugh. “All the same,” he presently added, “you knew he was right.”
“I didn’t!” she contradicted with spirit, and slowly went back to the book-shelf with the book.
“You did.”
“Didn’t!”
“You did.”
“Didn’t! Didn’t!”
“You do, you do,” insisted the Girl, plumping down into the chair which she had vacated at the table.