"But," he said gently, "was there no other way out of your difficulty?"
She looked pityingly at him.
"I didn't go to Mr. Gaston to—to stay," she whispered: "there was a reason for my going—a reason about Jude—then things happened that I guess were meant to happen. There was no other way out for me—but I had not thought that far. I guess if God ever took care of any one, he took care of me that night."
This utterly pagan outlook on the proprieties positively stirred Drew to unholy mirth. But it did something else—it made him realize that the girl before him was quite outside the reach of any of his preconceived ideas. He could afford to sit down upon her plane and feel no moral indignation. Perhaps, after all, she had brought his work to him when she came herself.
"You see, after Jude and Mr. Tate and Jock Filmer found me there late at night—there was nothing else for me to do. Jude would have killed me—if I had gone away alone—he was—awful. Besides, where could I have gone?"
"Gaston should have acted for you. He knew what he was doing to you."
The righteous indignation confused the girl.
"Why, he did act for me." The fire sprang to the wondering eyes. "He is the best man on earth. There are more ways of being good than one. The people here can't see that—but surely you can. Mr. Gaston made my life safe and clean. I could grow better every day. Why, look at me." She flung her arms wide as if by the gesture she laid bare her new life.
"He has taught me until I can see and think, wide and sure. He is always gentle—and he never lets me work until—until I'm too tired to want to live.
"Isn't it being good when you are growing into the thing God meant you to be? Ought you not to take any way God offers to reach that kind of life?" Joyce flung the questions out fiercely. She was perplexed by Drew's attitude. If he were as much like Gaston as she had believed, why did he look and act as he was doing?