"How can you ask that, dear lady?" he begged pathetically. "You would not class me with the rabble, I hope."
But Nan did not in the slightest degree respond to the lightness of his tone. Her own was cold and detached.
"I do not know how to class you," she said. "But I asked you a question."
Sansome arose to his feet again. His manner now became sympathetic, but into it had crept the least hint of resentment.
"I don't understand your mood" he told her. "You are overwrought."
Nan's self-control slipped by ever so little. She did not actually stamp her foot, but her delivery of her next speech achieved that for her.
"Will you answer me?" she demanded. "Which side, are you on?"
"I am on the side every gentleman is on," replied Sansome, a trifle stung. "The side of the law."
"Then," she cried, with a sudden intensity, "why weren't you there—on your side—defending the jail?' Why are you here?"
Ben Sansome's knowledge of women was wide, and he therefore imagined it profound. Here he recognized the symptoms of hysteria; cause unknown. He adopted the lightly soothing.