"He has no other motive in all this but to do what he has pledged himself to do--make Los Angeles a better place to live in. He is purely an altruist. When he has accomplished what he has set out to do he will retire from public life altogether with the satisfaction of knowing he has stood for law and order and decency, that he has done something for the city in which he lives and which he loves. That will be his only reward, the satisfaction he feels within himself." She paused, her eyes downcast. "There is one other reward--that is, he says it will be a reward--that he tells me he will claim if he is successful," she said, softly. He knew what she meant and he wondered if she would say it. "There is a girl he loves and who believes she loves him," she said. So, perhaps, Brennan had guessed it when he speculated, "Sometimes it's a girl." "The girl, has she--the reward, has it been promised him?" he asked. He saw the tinge of crimson steal into her cheeks. "She--it has," she answered, softly. "I understand now," he said. "I know now why he faced death the way he did. What man would not?" This last he spoke quietly, as if to himself. "Can you think of him as insincere, as faithless, as selfish, as greedy for power?" she asked. He shook his head. "I've told you things that are sacred," she said. "I have told you because I regard you as a friend. I liked you from the moment we met----" "And I said you were beautiful?" he interrupted. She smiled back to him. "And you said I was beautiful," she repeated. "But not simply because you said it, but because I thought you meant it." "I often wonder how I had courage to say that to you and to tell you I dreamed of meeting you again," he said. "I have often wondered why you have been so kind, why you are interested in me at all. At first I thought it was only--only what you might call pity and I resented it." "Why is it we have such thoughts?" she said. "Why must we always impute a misconceived motive?" "Because deceit has its place in the human heart, I suppose," he said, and, strangely, he thought of the mayor's regard of Gibson as a figurehead of hypocritical virtue who sold himself for money. How terrible it would be if that were true! As if by mutual unspoken assent they talked of other things, of books, of plays, of life, until Mrs. Gallant returned, apologizing again for her absence. A few minutes later the automobile which had brought Consuello glided up to a halt in front of the house and, glancing at her wrist watch, she arose. "I must be going," she said. "It's my turn now to thank you for a wonderful day, Mrs. Gallant; you will promise to meet father and mother, won't you?" "I would be delighted," Mrs. Gallant said. They escorted her to the waiting automobile. John imagined he saw Mrs. Sprockett and her husband peering out of the window of the Sprockett house across the street. CHAPTER IX