"Of course, Mr. Blake—anything I can do. But why are you leaving?"
"Your mother—she told me."
"Told you what? I do believe you're dreaming."
Blake quivered. "Wish it was a nightmare!" he groaned. He steadied himself with an effort. "No use, though. She told me the truth about—your cousin. Said her feeling for me is only gratitude."
"What! Vievie's?—only gratitude? Don't you believe it! Mamma is rooting for Jeems. She may believe it; she probably does. She wants to believe it. She wants a countess in the family."
"She couldn't do better in that line, nor in any other," replied Blake with loyal friendship. "Jimmy is all right; he's the real thing."
"Yes, twenty-four carats fine!"
"Don't joke, Miss Dolores. I know you don't like him, but it's true, just the same. I knocked around a whole lot with Jimmy, in all sorts of places. I give it to you straight,—he's square, he's white, and he's what all kinds of people would call a gentleman."
"But as for being a man?" she scoffed.
Blake's dull eyes brightened with a fond glow.