She glanced at him. Had he divined the thought which the Dean's talk had put into her head? Did he feel himself a mere tool, always an outsider, in the end friendless? If he discerned this truth, no words of hers could throw his keen-scented mind off the track. She fell back on simple honesty, on the strength of a personal assurance and a personal appeal. "At any rate I speak for myself," she said. "I can answer for myself. I want to be friends." "In spite of my manners?" He was bitter and defiant still. "They grow worse every minute; and your morals are no better, I'm told." "I daresay not," said Quisante with a short laugh. "Oh, say you won't be friends, if you don't want to! Be simple. There, I say it again. Be simple." Lady Richard's merry laugh rang through the garden, and a brusque "Damn it!" of Morewood's floated out from the open window of the billiard-room. There was an odd contrast to this cheerful levity in the man's pale drawn face as he looked into May Gaston's eyes. "Do you really mean what you say?" he asked. "Or are you only trying to be kind, to put me at my ease?" "It's nobody's fault but your own that you're not always at your ease," she replied. The rest she let pass; when she asked him to walk with her she had only been trying to be kind, and she had been fearful of what her kindness might entail on her. But things went well; he was not flirting and he was not acting; his manners, if still bad, were just now at least not borrowed, they were home-grown. "I am at my ease," he told her. "At least, I was till----" He hesitated, and then went on slowly, "Don't you suppose I've been thinking about what you said?" "I hope not; it wasn't worth it." "It was. But how can I change?" His voice had a touch of despair as well as of defiance. "I don't see what you mean; I don't feel what you mean. Yes, and you talk of morals too. Well, don't I know that every now and then I--I don't see those either?" He paused. "A man must get on as well as he can with what he's got," he resumed. "If he's only got one eye, he must learn to be sharper than other men in looking round." They walked on in silence for some way. His pride and his recognition of his defects, his defiance and his pleading for himself, combined to touch her heart, and she could not at the moment speak to him more about them. And to find all that so near the surface, so eager for utterance, ready to break out at the least encouragement, at the first sign of sympathy! For it had not come home to her yet that another might have spoken to him as she had, but found no response and opened the gates to no confidence; she had not guessed what Aunt Maria had about the Empress among women. "You're ill too," she said. "No, not for me," he answered. "I'm pretty well for me." "Are you never really well?"