"But," he went on quietly, "you don't hate your father, too, do you,
Miss Graham?"
She swung back to meet his stare with one that flamed with indignation.
"What do you mean by that, Mr. Duncan?"
"I mean," he said, faltering in where one wiser would have feared to
venture--"I'm going to give you a bit of advice. Don't you talk to your
father again the way you did just now."
"What business is that of yours?"
"None," he admitted fairly. "But just the same I wouldn't, if I were
you."
"Well, you ain't me!" she cried savagely. "You ain't me! Understand
that? When I want advice from you, I'll ask for it. Until I do, you
let me alone."
"Very well," he replied, so calmly that she lost her bearings for a
moment. And inevitably this, emphasising as it did all that she
resented most in him--his education, wit, address, his advantages of
every sort--only served further to infuriate the child.
"Oh, I know why you talk that way," she said, rubbing her poor little
hands together.
"Do you?" he asked in wonder.
"Yes, I do--you!..."
Suddenly she found words--poverty-stricken words, it's true, but the
best she had wherewith to express herself. And for a little they flowed
from her lips, a scalding, scathing torrent. "It's because you go to
church all the time and try to look like a saint and--and try to make
out you're too religious for anything, and like to hear yourself givin'
Christian advice to poor miserable sinners--like me. You think that's
just too lovely of you. That's why you said it, if you want to know.
... Folks wonder what you're doing here, don't they? Guess you know
that--and like it, too. It makes 'em look at you and talk about you,
and that's what you like. _I_ could tell 'em. You're only here to
show off your good clothes and your finger-nails and the way you part
your hair and--and all the other things you do that nobody in Noo York
would pay any attention to!"
He faced her soberly, attentively. She was a little fool, he knew, and
making a ridiculous figure of herself. But--his innate honesty told him
--she was right, in a way; she had hit upon his weakest point. He was
in Radville to "show off," as she would have said, to make an
impression and ... to reap the reward thereof. The way she spoke was
ludicrous, but what she said was mostly plain truth. He nodded
submissively.
"A pretty good guess at that," he acknowledged candidly.
"Yes, it is, and I know it, and you know it. ... Oh, it's easy enough
to give advice when you've got plenty of money and fine clothes and ...
but..."
"I understand," he said when she paused to get a grip upon herself and
find again the words she needed. "You needn't say any more. The only
reason I said what I did was because I'm strong for your father and ...
well, I wanted to do you a good turn, too."
"I don't want any of your good turns!"
"Then I apologise."
"And I don't want your apologies, neither!"
"All right, only ... think over what I said, some time."
"I had a good reason for saying what I did."
"I know you had."
"You know I had!" She looked at him askance. She had been on the point
of relenting a little, of calming, of being a bit ashamed of herself.
But his quiet acquiescence rekindled her resentment. "How do you know?
You!" she said bitterly.
"Because I'm not what you think I am, altogether."
"I guess you're not," she observed acidly.
"But I don't mean what you mean. I mean you think I'm conceited and
rich and don't know what trouble is. Well, you're mistaken. I've been
up against it the worst way for five years, and I know just how it
feels to see other people getting up in the world when you're at the
bottom of the heap with no chance of squirming out--to know that they
have things you haven't got any chance of getting. I've been through
the mill myself. Why, I've kept out of the way for days and days rather
than let my prosperous friends see how shabby I was. Many's the time
I've dodged round corners to avoid meeting men I knew would invite me
to have dinner or luncheon or a drink--of soda--or something, for fear
they'd find out that I couldn't treat in return. Many a time I've gone
hungry for days and weeks and slept on park benches ... until an old
friend found me and took me home with him."
The ring of sincerity in his manner and tone silenced the girl,
impressed her with the conviction of his absolute sincerity. The tumult
in her mind quieted. She eyed him with attention, even with interest
temporarily untinged with resentment. And seeing that he had succeeded
in gaining this much ground in her regard, Duncan dared further,
pushing his advantage to its limits.
"But it's your father I wanted to talk about," he hurried on. "I'd bet
a lot he knows more than any other man in this town; and besides, he's
a fine, square, good-hearted old gentleman. Anybody can see that.
Only, he's got one terrible fault: he doesn't know how to make money.
And that's mighty tough on you--though it's just as tough on him. But
when you roast him for it, like you did just now ... you only make him
feel as miserable as a yellow dog ... and that doesn't help matters a
little bit. He can't change into a sharp business crook now; ... he's
too old a man. ... Before long he ... he won't be with you at all and
... when he's gone you'll be sore on yourself ... sure! ... if you keep
on throwing it into him the way I heard you. ... And that's on the
level."
He paused in confusion; the role of preacher sat upon him awkwardly, a
sadly misfit garment. He felt self-conscious and ill at ease, yet with
a trace of gratulation through it all. For he felt he'd carried his
point. He could see no longer any animus in the pale, wistful little
face that looked up into his--only sympathy, understanding, repentance
and (this troubled him a bit) a faint flush of dawning admiration.
Presently she grew conscious of herself again, and looked aside, humbled
and distressed.
"I--I won't do it again," she faltered, twisting her hands together.
"Bully for you!" he cried, and with an abrupt if artificial resumption
of his business-like air turned away to a show-case--to spare her the
embarrassment of his regard.
"I didn't think," said the voice behind him; "I didn't mean to--
something happened that almost drove me wild and..."
"I know," he said gently.