"Well, you have seen enough to form some opinion of her. I should dearly like to know what that is."
Miss Crichton looked at him quizzically. "Oh, the artfulness of you men! Do you think I don't see that you are trying to draw me? Well, I have formed the same conclusion that you have—she is very beautiful, and, from a man's point of view, has a subtle charm. Will that content you?"
Hugh regarded her with a smile as quizzical as her own. "No, I'm afraid it won't. Now, look here, we are very old friends," he said persuasively, "and I am pretty near as discreet as you are, I never repeat what is told me in confidence. I should like to put a plain question to you."
"Put it: I don't promise to answer it, you know."
"Of course not. But I am very much interested in this strange marriage of Guy's. And, please don't think I am laying it on with a trowel, but I have very great faith in your judgment, I would trust it more than I would that of nine-tenths of the women I know."
Of course she knew he was flattering her to obtain his purpose; but then—was the most sensible woman absolutely impervious to flattery?
"Ask me your question," she answered briefly.
Hugh sank his voice to a whisper. "We hear a great deal about her reticence as to the past. Do you think, in a few words, that Stella Spencer is a good and straight woman in the general sense in which we understand the expression?"
For a moment Miss Crichton hesitated, then she looked him straight in the face. He had compelled her to a most unusual frankness.
"You will, of course, never breathe a word of this to anybody. Suppose I say I refuse to reply to your question. Will you take that refusal as the answer you really want?"