“That would be for you to decide—”
“Yes, well it’s already decided.”
“You might show your friendship by accepting it,” she said.
“Some friend!” he said in a tone of bitter mockery.
“Two thousand dollars might help him at his trial,” she said, with intelligence and fairness which struck Tom. “But that’s your own affair.”
“Do you think he’d take it?” Tom asked bitterly.
“Tom,” she said not unkindly, “what’s the use of talking about it? If you knew what you wanted to do—”
“It isn’t a question of what I want to do.”
“Of course it isn’t. I want you to feel just as you do—so there. I’m glad you do feel that way. You’re splendid, Tom. I always knew it.”
He looked straight at her now as if she were his strength, his refuge. His eyes were haggard, strained. “Go on, what is it?” he said.