“West, I've been thinking of you to-night, and I've come over to have a talk with you. You are in bad shape. You show it plain enough. If it were any other time, if we weren't already so far behind with our work, I'd send you off somewhere for a vacation. You need it.”
Harvey smiled wearily.
“A fellow can't expect to get over a row like that in a day or so. I'll be all right in a week.”
“Look here,” Jim leaned back and looked squarely at Harvey, “why don't you own up? Why don't you tell me about it? It's—it's her, isn't it?” indicating the photograph.
Harvey returned Jim's gaze with an expression of some surprise, then he leaned forward and looked at the carpet, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Of course,” Jim continued, “it isn't exactly in my line, but I might be able to bring some common sense to bear on it. When a man's bothered about a girl, he's likely to need a little common sense. I understand—of course—if you'd rather not talk about it——”
There was a long silence. Harvey broke it.
“I don't know but what you're right. I haven't known just what to do. Things are pretty much mixed up. You want me to tell you?”
Jim nodded.
“It isn't that she doesn't care for me. I think she does. You know she's always honest. But somehow it strikes her as a question of duty. She loves her father, and she feels that she hasn't been loyal to him. I've written to her,—I've used up all my arguments,—but she puts it in such a way that I can't say another word without actually hurting her. To her mind it's just a plain case of right and wrong, and that settles it. You know she's that kind of a girl.”