"Please bear with me a moment longer. I think you may have realized last year what Jerry was. You saw him then, a creature with the body and intelligence of a man and the heart of a child. He was what I had made him. From my point of view he was flawless, as nearly perfect as you will find a man in this—"
"Without temptations," she put in quickly, the first encouraging sign of her interest.
"I had built my hopes as I had built his body and mind and character, sure that contact with the world would only refine and strengthen him."
She shook her head. "You do not know the world as I do. It was a dream. I could have told you so then, last summer."
"You—you have seen the papers—the accounts of—?"
"I don't see how I could very well help seeing them," she said smiling. "He began his battle with the world bravely at least."
"My only hope is that you haven't misjudged him in that affair. All his life he has cared for boxing—"
"I can't see what difference my judgment of him can make one way or the other. He has done much, is doing much for the people I'm interested in. Of course, you know of that. But as to his private life—that is something with which, of course, I can have no concern."
"I am sorry to hear you say that. I thought perhaps that as a friend—"
"Mr. Benham understands my interest in him, I think," she paused and averted her head, one small foot tapping the floor impatiently. "I cannot see where this conversation is leading us. I beg that you will be explicit."