“Jean, you know you can trust me to the limit, don’t you? Tell me honestly what there is between you and Philip.”
“What there is between us?” The steady gaze of the dark eyes did not waver. “We are friends, of course; good friends, I hope.”
“Nothing more?”
“What more could there be?”
“Then I may talk to you just as I might to any other friend of his?”
“I don’t know why you shouldn’t.” Tone and manner both gave him the assurance that he might go on; that there was nothing more vital to be wounded than the friendship she had admitted.
“Something has happened to Philip. I lied to you a minute ago—said I hadn’t heard from Phil. I haven’t, not directly; but Mr. Drew is down from Leadville, and he tells me that Philip is up in the big camp, ripping things wide open. I couldn’t believe it—can hardly believe it yet.”
The deep-welled eyes were downcast now, and Bromley held his breath. If there were a little quiver of the sensitive lips when she spoke, the play-boy missed it—missed everything but the steady tone of her reply.
“I have been afraid of something like that, haven’t you? Of course, you know what has happened?”
“I don’t—I can’t imagine!”