"Surface, please."
Mr. Dayne gave his hand an extra wring. "Mr. Surface, you did a splendid thing. I'm glad of this chance to tell you so, and to beg your forgiveness for having done you a grave injustice in my thoughts."
The young man stared at him. "I have nothing to forgive you for, Mr. Dayne. In fact, I have no idea what you are talking about."
But Mr. Dayne did not enlighten him; in fact he was already walking briskly down the hall. Clearly the man had business that would not brook an instant's delay.
Hat in hand, the young man turned, plainly puzzled, and found himself looking at a white-faced little girl who gave back his look with brave steadiness.
"Do you think you can forgive me, too?" she asked in a very small voice.
He came three steps forward, into the middle of the room, and there halted dead, staring at her with a look of searching inquiry.
"I don't understand this," he said, in his controlled voice.
"What are you talking about?"
"Mr. West," said Sharlee, "has told me all about it. About the reformatory. And I'm sorry."