Of course, at the moment, Charles's "psychology" was not quite so elaborate as this. The thought, indeed, flashed through his brain in purely concrete form, thus: "_That's it! I'll put her on to Donald._" Forthwith, he launched upon a voluble talk, an address, at once extolling Donald's character and throwing out suggestive commentaries upon it: how Donald had come home in the vein of a boy let out of school, seeming to feel that at last his playtime had come; how he (so different from himself, Charles) openly sought and hungered for pleasure now, was mad for some good times. And, observing closely, he thought that Miss Angela looked interested in his exposition, too, though hardly so interested as one might have liked, perhaps. "Why, I didn't think he was that sort of person at all," said she. "I've never seen a man change so--come out so--in my life! Landing this great job, you know!--it's taken a great weight off him. And then the thought that he has only a few weeks more at home, too--it's really revolutionized his character! Why, Miss Flower, the man's all but quit work! Really! He ..." A knocking sense of disloyalty--to Mary's known plans--checked him, but briefly. What was that to him now? Had not Mary convinced him, once and for all, that she was more than competent to manage her own affairs? Deliberately, the young man released his valuable information:-- "Why, he leaves his office every afternoon at four o'clock--rain or shine--and walks up Washington Street, absolutely hunting for somebody to come and give him a little fun! But who is there to do it? He's been out of things so long, he hardly knows anybody! And then, too, Donald, beneath that--ah--standoffish manner of his, is really a shy man. What he needs most, really, is encouragement...." To all of which Angela's final reply--delivered after a slight silence--was: "You seem to love to talk about Mr. Manford to-day, Mr. Garrott." And then she took the wind out of his sails completely by saying:-- "I don't think of Mr. Manford really as a friend of mine. You know--I often think you're the only real friend I've made, since we left Mitchellton." During the remainder of the drive, Charles thought it best to affect an amiable absent silence. But that gained him nothing, any more than his treachery to Donald and Miss Carson. Before she released him at the now too familiar corner near Berringer's, the girl said, simply and seriously:-- "Mr. Garrott--aren't you really _ever_ coming to see me again?" Why again? When had he ever been to see her? And why all this talk of a misunderstanding? _He_ had never misunderstood anything. "Why, yes!--yes, certainly!--when I ever find a minute to see anybody! Ha, ha! But--when that'll be--" It was her great merit in his eyes that she had never really reproached him. It seemed to cost her an effort to go on:--