“Why can’t you? No one knows you’re here...No one need ever know.” She looked up, and their eyes exchanged meanings for a rapid minute. Her gaze was as clear as a boy’s. “Oh, it’s not THAT,” she exclaimed, almost impatiently; “it’s not people I’m afraid of! They’ve never put themselves out for me--why on earth should I care about them?” He liked her directness as he had never liked it before. “Well, then, what is it? Not ME, I hope?” “No, not you: I like you. It’s the money! With me that’s always the root of the matter. I could never yet afford a treat in my life!” “Is _THAT_ all?” He laughed, relieved by her naturalness. “Look here; since we re talking as man to man--can’t you trust me about that too?” “Trust you? How do you mean? You’d better not trust ME!” she laughed back sharply. “I might never be able to pay up!” His gesture brushed aside the allusion. “Money may be the root of the matter; it can’t be the whole of it, between friends. Don’t you think one friend may accept a small service from another without looking too far ahead or weighing too many chances? The question turns entirely on what you think of me. If you like me well enough to be willing to take a few days’ holiday with me, just for the pleasure of the thing, and the pleasure you’ll be giving me, let’s shake hands on it. If you don’t like me well enough we’ll shake hands too; only I shall be sorry,” he ended. “Oh, but I shall be sorry too!” Her face, as she lifted it to his, looked so small and young that Darrow felt a fugitive twinge of compunction, instantly effaced by the excitement of pursuit. “Well, then?” He stood looking down on her, his eyes persuading her. He was now intensely aware that his nearness was having an effect which made it less and less necessary for him to choose his words, and he went on, more mindful of the inflections of his voice than of what he was actually saying: “Why on earth should we say good-bye if we’re both sorry to? Won’t you tell me your reason? It’s not a bit like you to let anything stand in the way of your saying just what you feel. You mustn’t mind offending me, you know!” She hung before him like a leaf on the meeting of cross-currents, that the next ripple may sweep forward or whirl back. Then she flung up her head with the odd boyish movement habitual to her in moments of excitement. “What I feel? Do you want to know what I feel? That you’re giving me the only chance I’ve ever had!” She turned about on her heel and, dropping into the nearest chair, sank forward, her face hidden against the dressing-table.