"This is yours, sir," he said with a smile. "You may destroy it."
"Mine!" Mowbray showed his surprise. "You mean—you——" He stumbled over the words. "You admit your responsibility?" he finally ended.
"Of course!"
Harding picked up the note, tore it across twice, and threw the pieces into the open fire.
"There's an end of that," he smiled. "Since it bore my signature I don't know that I have any claim, but you can pay me when you like. I won't press you."
Mowbray did not answer for a moment. He felt overcome and could not collect his thoughts. His prejudices against Harding were strong, but they were, in a sense, impersonal. It was not the man he objected to, but what he stood for. The fellow's generosity humbled him.
"I'm afraid I have done nothing to warrant this great kindness," he said awkwardly. "Am I to understand that you offer it to me without conditions, asking nothing in return?"
"No; not altogether. I guess I might choose a better time, but I feel that you should know what I want. I'm going to ask a favor. I suppose you no longer think of compelling Miss Mowbray to marry Brand?"
"You can take it that I do not. But what is this to you?"
"Well," Harding said with a slight unsteadiness in his voice, "I want to ask you if you will give her to me?"