She sat up stiffly and watched him.
“Do—you—feel like that—about him?”
“Do I!” he said hotly. “There were men there that knew him, there were women there that knew him: why wasn’t there just one to stand by him? A man that’s been square all his life doesn’t turn into a card-sharp in a night. Damn fools! I beg your pardon!” he said hastily. And then, as hastily again: “No, I mean it. Damn fools!”
“Oh!” she gasped just once.
Her passionate eyes were suddenly blinded with tears. She caught at his clenched hand and dragged it to her, letting her face drop on it and crying like a child.
The way he took her breakdown was just like him and like no one else. He put the other hand on her shoulder and spoke to her exactly as he had spoken to Miss Alicia on that first afternoon.
“Don’t you mind me, Lady Joan,” he said. “Don’t you mind me a bit. I’ll turn my back. I’ll go into the billiard-room and keep them playing until you get away up-stairs. Now we understand each other, it’ll be better for both of us.”
“No, don’t go! Don’t!” she begged. “It is so wonderful to find some one who sees the cruelty of it.” She spoke fast and passionately. “No one would listen to any defense of him. My mother simply raved when I said what you are saying—what you said of him just now.”
“Do you want”—he put it to her with a curious comprehending of her emotion—“to talk about him? Would it do you good?”
“Yes! yes! I have never talked to any one. There has been no one to listen.”