There was a moment of silence, in which they splashed on slowly through the slush.

“I liked Dan; I was fond of him.  And yet I deliberately planned to make him do that kind of thing for me.  I pulled him out of the newspaper office and made it possible for him to study law, just that I might put my hand on him when he could be useful.  Please understand that I’m not saying this in the hope that you will intercede to bring him back.  Nothing can bring him back.  I wouldn’t let him come back to me if he would starve without my help.”

Sylvia was silent; there was nothing with which she could meet this.

“What I mean is,” he continued, “that I’m glad he shook me; I had wondered from the beginning just when it would come, and when I saw his things going out of my office, it satisfied something in me.  I wonder whether there’s some good in me after all that made me glad in spite of myself that he had the manhood to quit.”

Bassett was a complex character; his talk and manner at Marian’s ball had given her a sense of this which he was now confirming.  Success had not brought him happiness; the loss of Dan had been a blow to him, and she felt the friendlessness and isolation of this man whom men feared.  He had spoken doggedly, gruffly, and if she had marveled at their talk at the dance, her wonder was the greater now.  It was inconceivable that Morton Bassett should come to her with his difficulties.  If his conscience troubled him, or if he was touched with remorse for his conduct toward Dan Harwood, she was unable to see why he should make his confession to her.  It seemed that he had read her thoughts, for he spoke roughly, as though defending himself from an attack.

“You like him; you’ve known him for several years; you know him probably better than you know any other man.”

“I suppose I do, Mr. Bassett,” said Sylvia; “we are good friends, but—­that’s all.”

He stopped short, and she felt his hand touch her arm for an instant lightly—­it was almost like a caress, there in the rain-swept street with the maple boughs swishing overhead in the cold west wind.

He quickened his pace now, as though to mark a new current in his thoughts.

“There’s a favor I want to ask of you, Miss Garrison.  Dan talked to me once or twice about your grandfather’s estate.  He owned some shares in a business I had helped to organize, the White River Canneries.  The scheme failed for many reasons; the shares are worthless.  I want you to let me pay you back the money Professor Kelton paid for them.  I should have to do it privately—­it would have to be a matter between you and me.”

[Illustration:  A SUDDEN FIERCE ANGER BURNED IN HER HEART]

“Oh, no!  Dan explained that to me; he didn’t hold you responsible.  He said the company failed, that was all.  You are kind to offer, but I can’t think of accepting it.”

“Very well,” he said quietly.  And then added, as though to explain himself more fully:  “Your grandfather and Mrs. Owen were old friends.  He wasn’t a business man.  I promoted the canneries scheme and I was responsible for it, no matter what Harwood says about it.”