"No; quit it," was his answer. "If it isn't straight I won't have anything more to do with it. And one thing is certain: this coming fight with Nat Powers won't end in the sixteenth round. If there is any truth in that editor's tip, they'll all be fooled. Instead of putting him out in the sixteenth, I'll let the fight run on into the twenties. You wait and see." "And I'm not to tell the editor?" She was on her feet now, preparing to go. "Certainly not. If he is only guessing, let him take his chances. And if there's anything rotten about it he deserves to lose all he bets. This is to be a little secret between you and me. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll name the round to you. I won't run it into the twenties. I'll stop Nat Powers in the eighteenth." "And I'll not whisper it," she assured him. "I'd like to ask you a favor," he said tentatively. "Maybe it's a big favor." She showed her acquiescence in her face, as if it were already granted, and he went on: "Of course, I know you won't use this faking in the interview. But I want more than that. I don't want you to publish anything at all." She gave him a quick look with her searching gray eyes, then surprised herself by her answer. "Certainly," she said. "It will not be published. I won't write a line of it." "I knew it," he said simply. For the moment she was disappointed by the lack of thanks, and the next moment she was glad that he had not thanked her. She sensed the different foundation he was building under this meeting of an hour with her, and she became daringly explorative. "How did you know it?" she asked. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I can't explain it. I knew it as a matter of course. Somehow it seems to me I know a lot about you and me." "But why not publish the interview? As your manager says, it is good advertising." "I know it," he answered slowly. "But I don't want to know you that way. I think it would hurt if you should publish it. I don't want to think that I knew you professionally. I'd like to remember our talk here as a talk between a man and a woman. I don't know whether you understand what I'm driving at. But it's the way I feel. I want to remember this just as a man and a woman." As he spoke, in his eyes was all the expression with which a man looks at a woman. She felt the force and beat of him, and she felt strangely tongue-tied and awkward before this man who had been reputed tongue-tied and awkward. He could certainly talk straighter to the point and more convincingly than most men, and what struck her most forcibly was her own inborn certainty that it was mere naïve and simple frankness on his part and not a practised artfulness. He saw her into her machine, and gave her another thrill when he said good-by. Once again their hands were clasped as he said: "Some day I'll see you again. I want to see you again. Somehow I have a feeling that the last word has not been said between us."