The little sneer did not reach him. Having failed in his search, he produced a briar of disgraceful antiquity from the depths of a trouser pocket. He began to fill it with a lover's tenderness.
"Lots of decent fellows I knew were trampled to death on that particular afternoon," he said simply. "Some of them had saved my life."
"You saved Meredith," she put in loyally. She wanted to be just to him—to admire him, to stifle that feeling of intolerant disgust.
He laughed.
"Why, yes, I suppose I did. It was an inspiration. I just shouted at them that he had the sunstroke and didn't know what he was talking about——"
"Tris!"
"It was the best way. I had to fight like mad as it was. I didn't want to have to kill any of my people." He stretched himself out on the long chair and held out his hand. "You don't mind if I rest a bit before I wash up? I've been ten hours in the saddle. Don't be cross. Of course, I didn't mean that about Meredith. He did what he thought was right, and so it was right. I'd do anything I could for him."
She gave him her hand and sat down on the edge of the chair beside him. She had herself well under control now. She spoke gently and almost affectionately.
"You could help him if you wanted to, Tris."
"Well, I do want to. Tell me how."