"Everybody in the neighbourhood believes anything bad, about him--and us!" cried Delia. "Don't, for Heaven's sake, couple yourself, and the man--together!" said Winnington, flushing with anger. "I know nothing about him, when you first arrived here. Mr. Lathrop didn't matter twopence to me before. Now he does matter." "Why?" Delia's eyes were held to his, fascinated. "Simply because I care--I care a great deal--what happens to you," he said quietly, after a pause. "Naturally, I must care." Delia looked away, and began twisting her black sash into knots. "Bankruptcy--is not exactly a crime." "Oh, so you knew that farther fact about him? But of course--it is the rest that matters. Since we spoke of this before, I have seen the judge who tried the case in which this man figured. I hate speaking of it in your presence, but you force me. He told me it was one of the worst he had ever known--a case for which there was no defence or excuse whatever." "Why must I believe it?" cried Delia impetuously. "It's a man's judgment! The woman may have been--Gertrude says she was--horribly unhappy and ill-treated. Yet nothing could be proved--enough to free her. Wait till we have women judges--and women lawyers--then you'll see!" He laughed indignantly--though not at all inclined to laugh. And what seemed to him her stubborn perversity drove him to despair. "In this case, if there had been a woman judge, I am inclined to think it would have been a good deal worse for the people concerned. At least I hope so. Don't try to make me believe, Miss Delia, that women are going to forgive treachery and wickedness more easily than men!" "Oh, 'treachery!'--" she murmured, protesting. His look both intimidated and drew her. Winnington came nearer to her, and suddenly he laid his hand on both of hers. Looking up she was conscious of a look that was half raillery, half tenderness. "My dear child!--I must call you that--though you are so clever--and so--so determined to have your own way. Look here! I'm going to plead my rights. I've done a good deal for you the last three months--perhaps you hardly know all that has been done. I've been your watch-dog--put it at that. Well, now give the watch-dog, give the Early-Victorian, his bone! Promise me that you will have no more dealings with Mr. Lathrop. Send him back his books--and say 'Not at Home!'" She was really distressed. "I can't, Mr. Winnington!--I'm so sorry!--but I can't." "Why can't you?" He still held her. A score of thoughts flew hither and thither in her brain. She had asked a great favour of Lathrop--she had actually put the jewels into his hands! How could she recall her action? And when he had done her such a service, if he succeeded in doing it--how was she to turn round on him, and cut him the very next moment? Nor could she make up her mind to confess to Winnington what she had done. She was bent on her scheme. If she disclosed it _now_ everything might be upset.