Perry stood for a while, his back toward her, sagging against the ropes. And English, one hand on his shoulder, was talking to him. "Is he hurt?" she weakly asked the trainer. He gave her a fleet glance. "Some. Not bad." And louder to the other two: "That's plenty." A second later Perry nodded across the room to her and went to dress. But Jack English slid through the ropes and approached. There was some blood on his lip, and he wiped it away. She marveled at so little sign of conflict. He came straight to her, glistening with sweat. The trainer threw him a robe, which he wrapped about him to his very chin. She thought the welter-weight was bashful, too. And Irish--that without a doubt from his bright eyes. "Your lad?" he asked. "My--my what?" She'd hardly been ready for the abrupt question. It confused her. "Your steady?" This time he nodded toward the door through which Perry had disappeared. Jack English was almost thirty--an old man for the prize-ring--and had a family. Under his bright regard Cecille stammered, and stammered a lie. "Yes," she said, not steadily, and very softly indeed. "Yes, my--my lad." English nodded sagely. "Been worried about him lately, I suppose? Bothered by what folks are saying?" "I--I haven't heard much," she said, and this was all the truth. "Don't you!" he advised her. "Don't you listen. And don't you believe, either." Still that bright regard. And thereupon Cecille realized that she had been troubled deeply by one thing which she had heard. Felicity had passed it on to her. "They say he cheated," she voiced it, wide-eyed. "That he has a--yellow streak." "So's a Bengal tiger." Such succinctness was reassuring. "A whole lot of 'em. And a man like him don't cheat. You'd oughta know that." Laconic, but good to listen to. And again: "Don't you worry. I never saw a man so fast--so quick! That's why I'm using him. And some day--some day when he's in earnest--he's going to find out that he can hit. And they? They've said words that they'll choke then to swallow." "I hope so." Her voice was meek and small. "I know so," said English. "Don't you worry. You've picked a game guy. He can take punishment. You stick!" "I--I mean to." Her voice was smaller still. She wanted to cry. And that night when they were riding home together upon a bus-top she tried an experiment. How long they had been riding thus she did not know, but all in a breath she was conscious of the contact of his knee. That was what she had been avoiding--trying to make herself avoid--ever since she'd grown aware of her impulse to stay always close. But now she tried an experiment. She contemplated the contact contentedly for a time. Then drew away. Perry had been thinking of Felicity. "Crowding you?" he asked.