Part 6 (2/2)
When they opened again it was to meet the fixed gaze of Mr. Keen.
”Oh--I beg your pardon!”
”There is no need of it, child. Be seated. Never mind that report just now.” He paced the length of the room once or twice, hands clasped behind him; then, halting to confront her:
”What sort of a man is this young Gatewood?”
”What _sort_, Mr. Keen? Why--I think he is the--the sort--that--”
”I see that you don't think much of him,” said Keen, laughing.
”Oh, indeed I did not mean that at all; I mean that he appeared to be--to be--”
”Rather a cad?”
”Why, _no_!” she said, flus.h.i.+ng up. ”He is absolutely well-bred, Mr.
Keen.”
”You received no unpleasant impression of him?”
”On the contrary!” she said rather warmly--for it hurt her sense of justice that Keen should so misjudge even a stranger in whom she had no personal interest.
”You think he looks like an honest man?”
”Honest?” She was rosy with annoyance. ”Have you any idea that he is dishonest?”
”Have you?”
”Not the slightest,” she said with emphasis.
”Suppose a man should set us hunting for a person who does not exist--on our terms, which are no payment unless successful? Would that be honest?” asked Keen gravely.
”Did--did _he_ do that?”
”No, child.”
”I knew he _couldn't_ do such a thing!”
”No, he--er--couldn't, because I wouldn't allow it--not that he tried to!” added Keen hastily as the indignant brown eyes sparkled ominously.
”Really, Miss Southerland, he must be all you say he is, for he has a stanch champion to vouch for him.”
”All I _say_ he is? I haven't said anything about him!”
Mr. Keen nodded. ”_Ex_actly. Let us drop him for a moment. . . . Are you perfectly well, Miss Southerland?”
”Why, yes.”
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