He checked himself and rubbed his upright hair impatiently, almost angrily.
"I am not sure that you mightn't be enjoying yourself better," he said, "and I should like to know something more of you than I do."
"If any information I can give you"—she began.
"Come," he said, with a sudden effort at better humor, "that is the way you talk to Planefield. We are too good friends for that."
His shrewd eyes fixed themselves on her as if asking the unanswered question again.
"Come!" he said. "I'm a blunt, old-fashioned fogy, but we are good, honest friends,—and always have been."
She glanced across the room at Richard, who was talking to a stubborn opposer of the great measure, and making himself delightful beyond description. She wished for the moment that he was not quite so picturesque and animated; then she gathered herself together.
"I think we have been," she said. "I hope you will believe so."
"Well," he answered, "I shouldn't like to believe anything else."
She thought that perhaps he had said more than he originally intended; he changed the subject abruptly, made a few comments upon people near them, asked a few questions, and finally went away, having scarcely spoken to any one but herself.