"There has been no gossip, Donald," he answered crisply. "Get that notion out of your head. I would protect you from gossip, for I think I know my duty to the McKayes. I learned that lesson a long time ago," he added, with spirit.
"You haven't answered my question, Mr. Daney," Donald persisted.
"I shall. I know, because she told me herself." Mr. Daney had not intended that Donald should ever discover that he had had an interview with Nan Brent, but his veracity had, for the moment, appeared to him to be questioned by his superior, and he was too truthful, too thoroughly honest to attempt now to protect his reputation for truth-telling by uttering a small fib, albeit he squirmed inwardly at the terrible necessity for such integrity.
"Ah! Then Nan called upon you again?"
Mr. Daney sighed.
"No, I called upon her."
"With reference to what?"
"To settle with her for the loss of the Brutus."
"When did you lose the Brutus."
Mr. Daney pulled at his ear, gazed at the porch light, rubbed his Adam's apple, and gave the exact date.