“Thank you. I would always have feared, if I hadn’t asked, that somehow unintentionally—” She was silent.
Armstrong hesitated, waiting until there was no longer hope.
“You have nothing else you wish to say, then?” he asked at last.
“Nothing; unless it is this, that you know already: I shall always believe in you, Steve, always.”
“Believe in me!” The shade of the old ironic smile did duty. “You think I shall still become wealthy and famous?”
“Perhaps not,” swiftly. “I never demanded either qualification of you. Why should I lie 162 now? Both are right and desirable in their place, provided they come normally; but their place is second, not first. You know what I mean. I believe that you will always be clean and fair and likeable—always.”
Involuntarily the man turned away, until his face was hidden.
“You believe this, and still—you don’t give advice or—or warning?”
“I repeat, I believe in you. Even if it weren’t an insult advice would not be necessary.”
A last second they stood there, so near, so very near together and still so infinitely far apart. Dully, almost ploddingly, the man turned to leave.