“Not when he does not seem content with having come back!” “I do not understand!” But Alexa gave no explanation. “You would be kind to me again if I were going away again?” “Perhaps.” “That is, if you were sure I was not coming back.” “I did not _say_ so.” “I can't make it out, Alexa! I used to think there could never be any misunderstanding between you and me! But something has crept in between us, and for the life of me I do not know what it is!” “There is one thing for which I am more obliged to you than I can tell, George--that you did not say anything before you went.” “I am awfully sorry for it now; but I thought you understood!” “I did; and I am very glad, for I should have repented it long ago!” This was hardly logical, but George seemed to understand. “You are cruel!” he said. “I should have made it the business of my life that you never did!” Yet George knew of things he dared not tell that had taken place almost as soon as he was relieved from the sustaining and restraining human pressure in which he had grown up! “I am certain I should,” persisted Alexa. “Why are you so certain?” “Because I am so glad now to think I am free.” “Some one has been maligning me, Alexa! It is very hard not to know where the stab comes from!” “The testimony against you is from your own lips, George. I heard you talking to my father, and was aware of a tone I did not like. I listened more attentively, and became convinced that your ways of thinking had deteriorated. There seemed not a remnant left of the honor I then thought characterized you!” “Why, certainly, as an honest man, I can not talk religion like your friend the farmer!” “Do you mean that Andrew Ingram is not an honest man?” rejoined Alexa, with some heat. “I mean that I am an honest man.” “I am doubtful of you.” “I can tell the quarter whence that doubt was blown!” “It would be of greater consequence to blow it away! George Crawford, do you believe yourself an honest man?” “As men go, yes.” “But not as men go, George? As you would like to appear to the world when hearts are as open as faces?” He was silent. “Would the way you have made your money stand the scrutiny of--” She had Andrew in her mind, and was on the point of saying “_Jesus Christ_,” but felt she had no right, and hesitated. “--Of our friend Andrew?” supplemented George, with a spiteful laugh. “The only honest mode of making money he knows is the strain of his muscles--the farmer-way! He wouldn't keep up his corn for a better market--not he!”