"Yes," she answered steadily, meeting his eyes.
"You like him; you believe in him?"
"He has ability," she answered guardedly.
"Then I've done nothing to thwart him in the use of it. He's the best advertised young man in the state in either political party. He's in a place now where he can make good."
His smile was grave; it was impossible to answer him in the key of social small talk.
"The 'Advertiser' seems to think that he's in the legislature to do what you tell him to."
"He doesn't have to do it, does he? He owes me nothing—absolutely nothing. He can kick me down stairs to-morrow if he wants to. It was understood when he came into my office that he should be free to quit me whenever he liked. I'd like you to know that."
She was embarrassed by the direct look that accompanied this. Her opinions could not interest him one way or another, and he was going far in assuming that she was deeply concerned in Harwood's welfare. The incongruity of their talk was emphasized by the languorous strains of the newest popular waltz that floated over them from the ballroom.
"If it were any of my affair—which it certainly isn't—I should tell him to stand by you—to say no to you if need be and yet remain your friend."
"You think, then, that I am not beyond reclamation—that I might be saved—pulled out of the mire?"