“You are not; and that’s why I am frank.”

“You have done all these things—­following this trail you speak of?”

“Remember,” said Donnegan soberly.  “What have I done?”

“Shot down two men; played like an actor on a stage a couple of times at least, if I must be blunt; hunted danger like—­like a reckless madman; dared all The Corner to cross you; flaunted the red rag in the face of the bull.  Those are a few things you have done, sir!  And all on one trail?  That trail you spoke of?”

“Nelly Lebrun—­”

“I’m listening; and do you know I’m persuading myself to believe you?”

“It’s because you feel the truth before I speak it.  Truth speaks for itself, you know.”

“I have closed my eyes—­you see?  I have stepped into a masquerade.  Now you can talk.”

“Masquerades are exciting,” murmured Donnegan.

“And they are sometimes beautiful.”

“But this sober truth of mine—­”

“Well?”

“I came here unknown—­and I saw you, Nelly Lebrun.”

He paused; she was looking a little past him.

“I came in rags; no friends; no following.  And I saw that I should have to make you notice me.”

“And why?  No, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“You shouldn’t ask that,” agreed Donnegan.  “But I saw you the queen of The Corner, worshiped by all men.  What could I do?  I am not rich.  I am not big.  You see?”

He drew her attention to his smallness with a flush which never failed to touch the face of Donnegan when he thought of his size; and he seemed to swell and grow greater in the very instant she glanced at him.

“What could I do?  One thing; fight.  I have fought.  I fought to get the eye of The Corner, but most of all to attract your attention.  I came closer to you.  I saw that one man blocked the way—­mostly.  I decided to brush him aside.  How?”

“By fighting?” She had not been carried away by his argument.  She was watching him like a lynx every moment.

“Not by that.  By bluffing.  You see, I was not fool enough to think that you would—­particularly notice a fighting bully.”

He laid his open hand on the table.  It was like exposing both strength and weakness; and into such a trap it would have been a singularly hard-minded woman who might not have stepped.  Nelly Lebrun leaned a little closer.  She forgot to criticize.

“It was bluff.  I saw that Landis was big and good-looking.  And what was I beside him?  Nothing.  I could only hope that he was hollow; yellow—­you see?  So I tried the bluff.  You know about it.  The clock, and all that claptrap.  But Landis wasn’t yellow.  He didn’t crumble.  He lasted long enough to call my bluff, and I had to shoot in self-defense.  And then, when he lay on the floor, I saw that I had failed.”

“Failed?”

He lowered his eyes for fear that she would catch the glitter of them.