He felt her hand move in his. That stir was so helpless that he suddenly determined to be honest.
"I think you'll trust me, won't you?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Well, you mustn't," he went on hurriedly, his eyes on the door. "I'm not worse, I suppose, than other men, but all the same I'm not to be trusted. And when I say I'm not to be trusted I mean that I myself don't know whether I'll keep my word from one minute to another. I'm sure you don't know very much about men. I could see it at once from the way you spoke."
She looked up, her clear, unconfused, unquestioning eyes facing him.
"I knew my father well," she said. "We were quite alone for years together. And then Uncle Mathew—"
"Oh, your father, your uncle," he answered quickly. "They don't count. What I mean is that you mustn't think men are scoundrels just because they act badly. I swear that nine out of ten of them never mean to do any harm."
"And they think they're speaking the truth at the time. But anything 'does' for them and then they're in a mess, and all they think about is how to get out of it. Then it's every man for himself ..."
Maggie shook her head.
"I've always known that I'd have to manage for myself," she said. "I've never expected any one to do anything for me, so I'm not likely to be disappointed now."