"
"I see that," she admitted, going on with her work, "and yet there are
people to whom I shouldn't offer an old cloak, even if I had one to give
away."
He colored promptly. "You mean that if they needed anything you'd offer
them the best you had."
"I wonder if you'd understand that I'm not speaking ungraciously if I
said that--I shouldn't offer them anything at all?"
He put up his hand and stroked his long, fair mustache. It was the sort
of rebuke to which he was sensitive. It seemed to relegate him to
another land, another world, another species of being from those to
which she belonged. It was a second or two before he could decide what
to say. "No, Miss Guion," he answered then; "I don't understand that
point of view."
"I'm sorry. I hoped you would."
"Why?"
She lifted her clear gray eyes on him for the briefest possible look.
"Need I explain?"
The question gave him an advantage he was quick to seize. "Not at all,
Miss Guion. You've a right to your own judgments. I don't ask to know
them."
"But I think you ought. When you enter into what is distinctly our
private family affair, I've a right to give my opinion."
"You don't think I question that?"
"I'm afraid I do.
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