"Oh," she said, "you are a business man. I could give you reasons, and be sure they would go no further—even if you thought them funny. But if papa heard them, and thought them funny, as he would, he would play the sieve. I don't want this money for myself, Mr. Hemingway."
"They never do," said he.
She laughed.
"I wish to lend it in turn," she said, "to a person who has been reckless, and who is in trouble, but in whom I believe.... But perhaps," she went on, "the person, who is very proud, will take offence at my offer of help.... In which case, Mr. Hemingway, I should return you the money to-morrow."
"This person—" he began, twinkling.
"Oh," she said, "I couldn't bear to be teased. The person is a young gentleman. Any interest that I take in him is a business interest, pure and simple. I believe that, tided over his present difficulties, he will steady down and become a credit to his sex. Can I say more than that?" She smiled drolly.
"Men who are a credit to their sex," said Mr. Hemingway, "are not rare, but young gentlemen——"
"This one," said she, "has in him the makings of a man. Just now he is discouraged."
"Is he taking anything for it?" asked Mr. Hemingway with some sarcasm.