"Nothin' much, of course, unless what I think about it might matter."
Her enthusiasm ebbed and she looked at him, clearly troubled.
"I am not urging you to stay because I need one more man. It is essential to have men I can trust. I can trust you. I need you. I ... I'm quite alone, you know, and I have decided to stay ... if I can stay."
She flushed ever so slightly at the indefinable change in his eyes.
"You told me last night some of the things I must do, which I can't do wholly alone. I should like very much to have you stay,"—ending with a girlish simplicity quite unlike her usual manner.
"Maybe my advice and help ain't what you'd call good," he said.
"I thought it over when you had gone," she said, "and I came to the conclusion that it was good advice." Her eyes remained on his, splendidly frank.
"Some of us are apt to be disconcerted when we listen to new things; and, again, when we know that they come sincerely and our pride quits hurting we're inclined, perhaps, to take a new point of view. I have, on some things."
His face sobered in the rare way it had and he said:
"I'm mighty glad."