"I ought to, Mrs. Daney. I think I have had some experience of public opinion," Nan replied sadly.
"Then, should Donald McKaye's impulsive sympathy lead him to—er—"
"You mean that I am to discourage him in the event—"
"Precisely, Miss Brent. For his father's sake."
"Not to mention your husband's position. Precisely, Mrs. Daney."
Mary Daney's heart fluttered.
"I have trusted to your honor, Nan—although I didn't say so in the beginning—not to mention my visit or this interview to a living soul."
"My 'honor!'" Nan's low, bitter laugh raked the Daney nerves like a rasp. "I think, Mrs. Daney, that I may be depended upon to follow my own inclinations in this matter. I suspect you have been doing some talking yourself and may have gone too far, with the result that you are hastening now, by every means in your power, to undo whatever harm, real or fancied, has grown out of your lack of charity."
"Nan, I beg of you—"
"Don't! You have no right to beg anything of me. I am not unintelligent and neither am I degraded. I think I possess a far keener conception of my duty than do you or those whom you have elected to represent; hence I regard this visit as an unwarranted impertinence. One word from me to Donald McKaye—"