You know how long you've been in the office—it's years, now, several of them, anyway; and you know I've always been straight and aboveboard with you.
I've never what you call—presumed.
Because you were in my office I've tried to be more careful than if—if you wasn't in my office—you understand.
But just the same, it don't make me any the less human.
I'm a lonely sort of a fellow—don't take that as a bid for kindness.
What I mean by it is to try and tell you just how much those two rides with you have meant.
And now I hope you won't mind my just asking why you haven't been out riding the last two Sundays?"
He came to a stop and waited, feeling very warm and awkward, the perspiration starting in tiny beads on his forehead.
She did not speak immediately, and he stepped across the room and raised the window higher.
"I have been riding," she answered; "in other directions."
"But why...?" He failed somehow to complete the question.
"Go ahead and be frank with me," he urged. "Just as frank as I am with you.
Why didn't you ride in the Piedmont hills?
I hunted for you everywhere.
"And that is just why."
She smiled, and looked him straight in the eyes for a moment, then dropped her own.
"Surely, you understand, Mr. Harnish."
He shook his head glumly.
"I do, and I don't.
I ain't used to city ways by a long shot.
There's things one mustn't do, which I don't mind as long as I don't want to do them."
"But when you do?" she asked quickly.
"Then I do them."
His lips had drawn firmly with this affirmation of will, but the next instant he was amending the statement "That is, I mostly do.
But what gets me is the things you mustn't do when they're not wrong and they won't hurt anybody—this riding, for instance."
She played nervously with a pencil for a time, as if debating her reply, while he waited patiently.
"This riding," she began; "it's not what they call the right thing.
I leave it to you.
You know the world.
You are Mr. Harnish, the millionaire—"
"Gambler," he broke in harshly
She nodded acceptance of his term and went on.
"And I'm a stenographer in your office—"
"You're a thousand times better than me—" he attempted to interpolate, but was in turn interrupted.
"It isn't a question of such things.
It's a simple and fairly common situation that must be considered.
I work for you.
And it isn't what you or I might think, but what other persons will think.
And you don't need to be told any more about that.
You know yourself."
Her cool, matter-of-fact speech belied her—or so Daylight thought, looking at her perturbed feminineness, at the rounded lines of her figure, the breast that deeply rose and fell, and at the color that was now excited in her cheeks.
"I'm sorry I frightened you out of your favorite stamping ground," he said rather aimlessly.
"You didn't frighten me," she retorted, with a touch of fire.
"I'm not a silly seminary girl.
I've taken care of myself for a long time now, and I've done it without being frightened.
We were together two Sundays, and I'm sure I wasn't frightened of Bob, or you.
It isn't that.
I have no fears of taking care of myself, but the world insists on taking care of one as well. That's the trouble.
It's what the world would have to say about me and my employer meeting regularly and riding in the hills on Sundays.
It's funny, but it's so.