"What I mean to do?" he repeated.
"About the ore—shipping it or something. I don't know exactly—somebody was drinking and talked, I think."
Moya, watching Kilmeny's face, saw only the slightest change. The eyes seemed to harden and narrow the least in the world.
"Tell me all you know about it."
She repeated what Joyce had overheard, adding that her friend had asked her to tell him.
The faintest ironic smile touched his face. "Will you thank Miss Seldon for me, both for this and many other favors?"
"You don't understand Joyce. You're not fair to her," Moya said impulsively.
"Perhaps not." A sudden warmth kindled in his eyes. "But I know who my real friends are. I'm fair to them, neighbor."
The color beat into her face, but she continued loyally. "May I ... assume you have a kindly interest in Joyce?"
"I'll listen to anything you care to tell me. I owe my friend, Miss Dwight, that much."