He nodded. "I guessed a little. And I made Donovan do the rest.
You were so upset about it. Something had to be done."
"Oh, Burke!" she said again.
He went on. "Guy told me all about it too—only a little while ago. He made a clean breast of everything. He was—awfully penitent. Look here! We'll forget all that, won't we? Promise me you'll forget it!" He spoke rapidly, just as Guy would have spoken. She saw that he was deeply moved. "I was a devil ever to doubt you. I want to be sure—to be certain sure—that you'll never think of it again—that you'll forget it all—as if it had never been."
The earnest appeal in his eyes almost startled her. It brought the quick tears to her own. She gave him both her hands. "I shall only remember—one thing," she said. "And that is—your great goodness to me—from beginning to end."
He made a sound of dissent, but she would not hear.
"I am going to remember that always, for it is the biggest thing in my life. And now, Burke, please tell me—for I've got to know—are we quite ruined?"
He gave her an odd look. "What made you think of that?"
She coloured a little. "I don't know. I have been thinking about it a great deal lately. Anyhow," she met his look almost defiantly, "I've a right to think of it, haven't I? We're partners."
"You've a right to do anything that seems good to you," he said. "I am not absolutely down and out, but I'm pretty near it. There isn't much left."
She squeezed his hands hard, hearing the news with no hint of dismay. Her eyes were shining with the old high courage. "Never mind, partner! We'll pull up again," she said. "We're a sound working proposition, aren't we?"