"It has been the same with me," he said. "Even when you trod on all my
principles at once, I haven't been able to smother a sort of
shamefaced respect for you. You always seemed more worthy of respect
than--well, some of the others."
"I suppose it is our sincerity," she said. "You are sincere in your
goodness, and I, paradoxical as it sounds, in my badness."
"I think not," he answered, looking her gravely in the face. "I think
it is because the hidden best in both of us recognized each other and
held out the hand of friendship almost without our knowing."
She smiled, but he saw a light sparkle in her eyes.
"Oh, practical John, you are making fast progress in the soul's world!
Who has taught you?"
He turned away from her back to the table and stood there gazing out
over the garden.
"No one. It is a mood I have on today which makes me see clearer than
I have done before. Go now--if any one saw you here, you know what
Marut would say."
"Yes, I know Marut very well by now. Not that it much matters.
Good-by. Please--I found my way alone; I can find the way out."
She had reached the door before he stopped her.
"Beatrice!"
She turned.
"What is it?"
"I have a favor to ask of you--or rather, I have a trust to put in
your hands. It is in a sort of way the seal upon our good
understanding. There is no one else whom I could trust so much."
She came back to his side. A new color was in her cheeks.
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