“Why do you say that?” she said, genuinely amazed at his intuition.
“You are different—you are not the same—I feel it.”
She waited a moment, and then said hurriedly, in a low voice:
“If I told you, you wouldn’t understand!”
At this moment, O’Leary, probably disturbed at the sound of voices, moved heavily in his chair. Dangerfield waited a moment to assure himself that the sleep was still profound, before saying:
“I am not so sure I don’t understand now.” He looked at her keenly, albeit with gentleness, for there was a softness in his eyes and the smile that came to his lips was one of comprehension. He laid his hand over hers and said: “Isn’t it because—before nothing bound you—you were free to go any moment. There’s something wild in you—untamed.”
“I don’t know—I really don’t know,” she said, looking away.
“I’ve never misunderstood you, child,” he said, nodding as though satisfied. “Don’t worry. Men like me don’t bruise—” he hesitated a moment, patted her hand, and said softly, “guardian angels.”
“Oh, I never was afraid of that!” she said swiftly, turning impulsively toward him.
“I’m not going to put a cloud over your life,” he said doggedly.