"That's why I want to see your father."
"For that! Was it really for that, Mr. Marche?"
"Yes—partly." He swallowed and looked the other way, for the girl's excited face was very near his own as she bent forward to search his eyes for the least change of expression—bent nearer as though to reassure herself that he
meant it seriously. For an instant her soft breath made the night air fragrant; he felt it, faint and fresh on his cheek, and turned sharply, biting his lips lest he lose all self-control.
"Could you and your father spare him?" he asked carelessly.
"Oh, if you only would give him that chance!" she cried. "But—tell me—how can we accept such a thing of you? Is it possible?"
"Would you accept it?" he asked, turning toward her.
The question startled her. She looked at him, striving to think clearly, trying to see this offered miracle through calm, impartial eyes.
"I—I would do anything—almost—for Jim," she said. "I'd have no pride
left, if his chances lay in the balance. But men—my father—may be different."