Then he spoke slowly, as though choosing his words.
"Fate has given you one of her back-handers, I think, and you want the thing you can't have--want it rather badly.

And just now--nothing seems quite worth while." "Go on," she said very low.
He hesitated.

Then, as if suddenly making up his mind to hit hard, as a surgeon might decide to use the knife, he spoke incisively: "The man wasn't worth it." Nan gave a faint, irrepressible start.

Recovering herself quickly, she contrived a short laugh.
"You don't know him--" she began.
"But I know you." "This is only our second meeting." "What of that?
I know you well enough to be sure--quite sure--that you wouldn't give unasked.

You're too proud, too analytical, and--at present--too little passionate." Nan's face whitened.