Jeff's smile was genuine. There was no false modesty that made him place the credit of the Obar's success at Bud's door. The credit was Bud's. He knew it. And, with frank honesty, was only too ready to admit it, and even advertise it.
Elvine nodded. Her dark eyes were warmly returning his smile.
"I like that," she said simply. And she meant it.
The blood mounted to the man's brow. He felt that he had forced her to make the admission, and regarded his act with some shame.
"Say, don't feel you've got to say that," he said earnestly. "You mustn't just think I'm asking your applause. These are simple facts which I can't deny. I'd like to feel the sun just rises and sets around my work, but if I did I'd be the same sort of fool as those Pharisee fellers in the Bible. Bud's a bully feller, and I'll owe him more than I can ever hand him back just as long as I live."
Elvine was comparing this man's big generosity with her understanding of most of the men she had ever known. She was thinking, too, of days long since passed, and events which even a wide distance of time had not succeeded in rendering mellow.
She sighed. Somehow "Honest Jeff" was hurting her in a way she would never have believed any man could hurt her—now.
"This Bud Tristram's daughter—Nan. She's a pretty creature," Elvine went on, feeling their topic needed changing.
Jeff's smile deepened.
"She's pretty—right through to her soul," came his prompt and earnest response.