"Then," says I, stern in dead earnest, "you are a foolish and an unfair woman. You've believed what was told you; now you _shall_ hear a friend." "I will _not_," she cried, rising. I caught her arms and forced her back into the seat. "You will," I answered. "Very well," she said with quivering lips. "If you wish to take advantage of the friendship I have shown you, and, because you are strong, make me hear what I have forbidden you to say, I'm helpless." "All the mean things you say sha'n't stop me. Now, as long as you _must_ listen, won't you pay attention?" I asked this in my most wheedling tone. I knew I'd fetch her. She stayed stiff for about ten seconds. Then the dimples came. "It makes me so angry to think I can't get angry with you, I don't know what to do," she snapped at me. "You have no _business_ to talk to me this way. I shouldn't stand it for a minute. You're nothing but a great bully, bullying a poor little woman, you nice boy! Who ever heard of such an argument? Because you _make_ me listen, I must pay attention! Well, to show you what a friend I am, I will." "Thank you, Mary," I said, holding out my hand. "Thank you, dear. You'll not be the worse for hearing the truth. It isn't like you to condemn a man unheard." "I heard him." "You heard a lunatic--he told me; why will you call up the worst of him and believe only in that?" She sprang up, outraged. "I do _not_ call up the worst of him! That is a cowardly excuse--he should be man enough to--" "Wait: I never meant you did it intentionally. Can't you see how anxious he might be to please you? Can't you believe that if he did something he thought would please you greatly, and you called him a rascal for it, that the worst of him would likely come on top?" "Yes," she answered slowly; "I can see that--_I_ should, I know." "Of course you would. Now listen. I have a story for you, that your love of kindness and nobility will find pleasure in." Again I tried Saxton's method--there isn't a better one, if it's real stuff you have to tell. Very quietly I put it to her as he had to me. She had less color when I finished. "If that is the truth, it _was_ noble," she said, when I finished. The breath fluttered in her throat. "It _is_ the truth. Arthur isn't too good to lie, by any means, but he has too much pride and courage to lie about a thing like that." She nodded her head in assent. I got excited, seeing victory in sight, but had sense enough to keep cool. I knew, even at that early age, there's snags sometimes underneath the smoothest water. She sighed as if the life of her went out. "Impulse," she said, "a noble impulse--and then? an ignoble one, followed with the same determination." That had too much truth in it. I didn't approve of his drinking himself to death, because he couldn't have what he wanted. "Yes," I answered smoothly, "and what he needs is a strong excuse to make them all good--he has the strength to do it, you don't deny that?"