“Will you take mine?”
“Great God! No!”
“Why not?”
“I tell you, it’s almost sure loss. There’s a new paper coming into the field—”
“You said just now that it was my doing that you—you stood straighter than you used. Did you mean The Guardian?”
“The Guardian. Myself. It’s the same thing.”
“Then does not that give me a right in the paper? A moral right?” she argued with bewitching earnestness. “Granted. Put in anything you like but your money.”
“Jem! Please!” she pleaded. “Will you not take it if—”
“Not with any if.”
She rose and came to him around the corner of the table, and set her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were steady, clear, courageous upon his, but her whole face flushed into a glorious shame and her voice shook and fluttered as she spoke again. “Not if—not even if—I go with it?”