"Most undoubtedly—he will forego much to advance his social position."
"And you think of helping him on?"
"Not that exactly," she reflected. "I think to use it to our advantage—though how I've not the least idea as yet."
"I think you don't appreciate what manner of man Porshinger is, my dear," said he soothingly. "He is as cold as ice and as hard as armor-plate."
"I inferred as much—and such men are usually easy to influence if they have a hobby. Porshinger's hobby—concealed though it be—is the social whirl. Let him but think that he's whirling and anything is possible."
"You're not thinking of—flirting with him?" he asked, puzzled.
"No—just trying to make him like me well enough to forego his revenge. If he foregoes me, he likely will forego you also—as a matter of policy."
"My dear child!" smiled Pendleton. "I'm not concerned about his revenge—not in the least. He can't hurt me, and I don't see how he can hurt you—if you let him alone. The danger, with his kind, is in being nice to them and in having your motives misunderstood and misinterpreted. Since you have met him, you can be politely nice to him but—tell me about this meeting on the road," he said suddenly. "Did it seem to be premeditated on his part?"
"I don't know—but I think not. He overtook me about a mile from the Overton stile—you know the place. He merely raised his hat and spoke casually—as one does in the country—and was passing; then held back; and I gave him leave, by my manner, to accompany me—which he did as far as the Criss-Cross gates."
"Were you going or returning?"