“He doesn’t have to do it, does he?  He owes me nothing—­absolutely nothing.  He can kick me down stairs to-morrow if he wants to.  It was understood when he came into my office that he should be free to quit me whenever he liked.  I’d like you to know that.”

She was embarrassed by the direct look that accompanied this.  Her opinions could not interest him one way or another, and he was going far in assuming that she was deeply concerned in Harwood’s welfare.  The incongruity of their talk was emphasized by the languorous strains of the newest popular waltz that floated over them from the ballroom.

“If it were any of my affair—­which it certainly isn’t—­I should tell him to stand by you—­to say no to you if need be and yet remain your friend.”

“You think, then, that I am not beyond reclamation—­that I might be saved—­pulled out of the mire?”

“No man is beyond reclamation, is he?  I think not; I believe not.”

The music ceased; the dancers were demanding a repetition of the number.  Bassett stood his ground stubbornly.

“Well, I’ve asked him to do something for me—­the only thing I have ever asked him to do that wasn’t straight.”

There was no evading this; she wondered whether he had deliberately planned this talk, and what it was leading to.  In any view it was inexplicable.  His brow knit and there was a curious gravity in his eyes as they sought hers searchingly.

“That’s his affair entirely, Mr. Bassett,” she replied coldly.  “He and I are good friends, and of course I should hate to see him make a mistake.”

“But the mistake may be mine; let us say that it is mine.”

“I had an idea that you didn’t make mistakes.  Why should you make the serious mistake of asking a good man to do a bad thing?”

“The natural inference would be that I’m a bad man, wouldn’t it?”

“It wouldn’t be my way of looking at it.  All you need is courage to be a great man—­you can go far!”

He smiled grimly.

“I need only one thing, you say;—­but what if it’s the thing I haven’t got?”

“Get it!” she replied lightly.  “But your defiance in the convention wasn’t worthy of you; it was only a piece of bravado.  You don’t deserve to be abused for that,—­just scolded a little.  That’s why I laughed at you that afternoon; I’m going to laugh at you now!”

The music had ceased again and Allen and Marian flashed out upon them in the highest spirits.

“Well, I like this!” cried Marian.  “What are you two talking so long about?  Oh, I saw you through three dances at least!”

“Miss Garrison has been laughing at me,” said Bassett, smiling at his daughter.  “She doesn’t take me at all seriously—­or too seriously:  I don’t know which!”

“How could she take you seriously!” demanded Marian.  “I never do!  Sylvia, where on earth is our little Daniel?  It’s nearly time for the cotillion.  And if Dan Harwood doesn’t show up for that I’ll never forgive him in this world.”