Then, too, was she disappointed in Bridge. She had looked upon him as a gentleman whom misfortune and wanderlust had reduced to the lowest stratum of society. Now she feared that he belonged to that substratum which lies below the lowest which society recognizes as a part of itself, and which is composed solely of the criminal class.
It was hard for Barbara to realize that she had associated with a thief—just for a moment it was hard, until recollection forced upon her the unwelcome fact of the status of another whom she had known—to whom she had given her love. The girl did not wince at the thought—instead she squared her shoulders and raised her chin.
“I am proud of him, whatever he may have been,” she murmured; but she was not thinking of the new bookkeeper. When she did think again of Bridge it was to be glad that he had escaped—“for he is an American, like myself.”
“Well!” exclaimed a voice behind her. “You played us a pretty trick, Miss Barbara.”
The girl turned to see Grayson approaching. To her surprise he seemed to hold no resentment whatsoever. She greeted him courteously.
“I couldn't let you turn an American over to General Villa,” she said, “no matter what he had done.”
“I liked your spirit,” said the man. “You're the kind o' girl I ben lookin' fer all my life—one with nerve an' grit, an' you got 'em both. You liked thet bookkeepin' critter, an' he wasn't half a man. I like you an' I am a man, ef I do say so myself.”
The girl drew back in astonishment.
“Mr. Grayson!” she exclaimed. “You are forgetting yourself.”
“No I ain't,” he cried hoarsely. “I love you an' I'm goin' to have you. You'd love me too ef you knew me better.”