“Yes. You told me about him, you remember.”
He nodded. “Yes; he was the other half of the ‘we.’ He was my partner: he still is.”
“And did he—was he——”
A lack of loyalty was not one of Philip’s failings.
“You may remember what you said of him that night a year ago. Your intuition hit the mark. Harry Bromley has a heart of gold. He is a much better man than I am.”
“A better man? In what way?”
“Well, for one thing, he has a much better sense of values—the life values, you know. And for another, he isn’t burdened with a New England conscience. But I am forgetting. You don’t know anything about New England and its conscience.”
“You shouldn’t throw my ignorance up at me,” she bantered. “Where is Mr. Bromley now?”
“He is here in Denver; we have rooms together in the Alamo Building. Just at this present moment he is dining out with some new society friends he has been acquiring—at a Mrs. Demming’s, I think he told me.”
“Oh,” she said; “the Demmings are rich people. I know, because I trimmed a hat for the daughter last week. But then, I suppose you and Mr. Bromley are both rich, too, now.”