"Of course," he said, coming as near a sneer as he was capable. "I know what you've done. You've nearly twisted poor Grandcourt's head off his honest neck. If you want to know what I think of it, it's an abominable thing to do. Why, anybody can see that the man is in love with you, and desperately unhappy already, I told you to let him alone. You promised, too." He spoke rapidly, sharply; she bent her fair head in silence until he ended. "May I defend myself?" she asked. "Of course." "Then--I did not mean to make him care for me." "You all say that." "Yes; we are not always as innocent as I happen to be this time. I really did not try, did not think, that he was taking a little unaccustomed kindness on my part so seriously ... I overdid it; I'd been beastly to him--most women are rude to Delancy Grandcourt, somehow or other. I always was. And one day--that day in the forest--somehow something he said opened my eyes--hurt me.... And women are fools to believe him one. Why, Duane, he's every inch a man--high-minded, sensitive, proud, generous, forbearing." Duane turned and stared at her; and to her annoyance the blood mounted to her cheeks, but she went on: "Of course he has affected me. I don't know how it might have been with me if I were not so--so utterly starved." "You mean to say you are beginning to care for Delancy Grandcourt?" "Care? Yes--in a perfectly nice way----" "And otherwise?" "I--don't know. I am honest with you, Duane; I don't know. A--a little devotion of that kind"--she tried to laugh--"goes to my head, perhaps. I've been so long without it.... I don't know. And I came here to tell you. I came here to ask you what I ought to do." "Good Lord!" said Duane, "do you already care enough for him to worry about your effect on him?" "I--do not wish him to be unhappy." "Oh. But you are willing to be unhappy in order to save him any uneasiness. See here, Rosalie, you'd better pull up sharp." "Had I?" "Certainly," he said brutally. "Not many days ago you were adrift. Don't cut your cable again." A vivid colour mounted to her temples: "That is all over," she said. "Have I not come to you again in spite of the folly that sent me drifting to you before? And can I pay you a truer compliment, Duane, than to ask the hospitality of your forbearance and the shelter of your friendship?" "You _are_ a trump, Rosalie," he said, after a moment's scowling. "You're all right.... I don't know what to say.... If it's going to give you a little happiness to care for this man----" "But what will it do to him, Duane?"