"The chance hasn't been lacking. But my business out here is--well, it isn't exactly a Star Chamber matter, but I'm under promise in a way not to talk about it until I have had a conference with our people at the capital. I'll write you about it in a few days." They were ascending the steps at the end of the passenger platform again, and Loring broke away from the political and personal entanglement to give Kent one more opportunity to hear his word of negative comfort. "We dug up the field of recollection pretty thoroughly in our after-dinner séance in your rooms, David, but I noticed there was one corner of it you left undisturbed. Was there any good reason?" Kent made no show of misunderstanding. "There was the excellent reason which must have been apparent to you before you had been an hour in Gaston. I've made my shot, and missed." Loring entered the breach with his shield held well to the fore. He was the last man in the world to assault a friend's confidence recklessly. "I thought a good while ago, and I still think, that you are making a mountain out of a mole-hill, David. Elinor Brentwood is a true woman in every inch of her. She is as much above caring for false notions of caste as you ought to be." "I know her nobility: which is all the more reason why I shouldn't take advantage of it. We may scoff at the social inequalities as much as we please, but we can't laugh them out of court. As between a young woman who is an heiress in her own right, and a briefless lawyer, there are differences which a decent man is bound to efface. And I haven't been able." "Does Miss Brentwood know?" "She knows nothing at all. I was unwilling to entangle her, even with a confidence." "The more fool you," said Loring, bluntly. "You call yourself a lawyer, and you have not yet learned one of the first principles of common justice, which is that a woman has some rights which even a besotted lover is bound to respect. You made love to her that summer at Croydon; you needn't deny it. And at the end of things you walk off to make your fortune without committing yourself; without knowing, or apparently caring, what your stiff-necked poverty-pride may cost her in years of uncertainty. You deserve to lose her." Kent's smile was a fair measure of his unhopeful mood. "You can't well lose what you have never had. I'm not such an ass as to believe that she cared greatly." "How do you know? Not by anything you ever gave her a chance to say, I'll dare swear. I've a bit of qualified good news for you, but the spirit is moving me mightily to hold my tongue." "Tell me," said Kent, his indifference vanishing in the turning of a leaf. "Well, to begin with, Miss Brentwood is still unmarried, though the gossips say she doesn't lack plenty of eligible offers." "Half of that I knew; the other half I took for granted. Go on."