"Oh, well, it's not as bad as all that. I have really nothing against him; he's always entertaining and pleasant and makes things go off well. It's just my own feeling; I have no reason. I can't discriminate against him because of that."
Mark was silent. It was hateful to him to hear her blaming herself, offering excuses for the truth of her instinct. But he had agreed with Crowder not to tell her, and anyway he had satisfied himself as to her sentiments—she was proof against Mayer's poisonous charm. At this stage he could enlighten her no further; all that now remained for him to do was to give her a hint of that guardianship to which he was pledged.
"It's a big responsibility for you, running a place like this, letting the right people in and keeping the wrong ones out."
"It is, and I don't suppose I do it very well. It was all so new and I was so green."
"Well, it's not a girl's job. You ought to have a watch dog. How would
I answer?"
She smiled.
"What would you do—bay on the front steps every time Mr. Mayer came?"
"That's right—show my teeth so he couldn't get at the bell. But, joking apart, I'd like you to look upon me that way—I mean if you ever wanted anyone to consult with. You're just two girls—you might need a man's help—things come up."
The smile died from her lips. She was surprised, gratefully, sweetly surprised.
"Oh, Mr. Burrage, that's very kind of you."