"Oh—I beg your pardon!"
"There is no need of it, child. Be seated. Never mind that report just now." He paced the length of the room once or twice, hands clasped behind him; then, halting to confront her:
"What sort of a man is this young Gatewood?"
"What sort, Mr. Keen? Why—I think he is the—the sort—that—"
"I see that you don't think much of him," said Keen, laughing.
"Oh, indeed I did not mean that at all; I mean that he appeared to be—to be—"
"Rather a cad?"
"Why, no!" she said, flushing up. "He is absolutely well-bred, Mr. Keen."
"You received no unpleasant impression of him?"
"On the contrary!" she said rather warmly—for it hurt her sense of justice that Keen should so misjudge even a stranger in whom she had no personal interest.