“I suppose so.  I don’t read it myself, but it makes game of my mother and she finds a furious consolation in taking it to my father and planning a suit for damages once a week.  You’re right; most people are afraid of it.  Do you think it’s all right for me to motor back with Mrs. Dysart?”

“Are you afraid?” asked Duane, smiling.

“Only on her account,” said Grandcourt, so simply that a warm feeling rose in Duane’s heart for this big, ungainly, vividly coloured young fellow whose direct and honest gaze always refreshed people even when they laughed at him.

“Are you driving?” asked Duane.

“Yes.  We came in at a hell of a clip.  It made my hair stand, but Mrs. Dysart likes it....  I say, Mallett, what sort of an outcome do you suppose there’ll be?”

“Between Rosalie and Jack Dysart?”

“Yes.”

“I know no more than you, Grandcourt.  Why?”

“Only that—­it’s too bad.  I’ve known them so long; I’m friendly with both.  Jack is a curious fellow.  There’s much of good in him, Mallett, although I believe you and he are not on terms.  He is a—­I don’t mean this for criticism—­but sometimes his manner is unfortunate, leading people to consider him overbearing.

“I understand why people think so; I get angry at him, sometimes, myself—­being perhaps rather sensitive and very conscious that I am not anything remarkable.

“But, somehow”—­he looked earnestly at Duane—­“I set a very great value on old friendships.  He and I were at school.  I always admired in him the traits I myself have lacked....  There is something about an old friendship that seems very important to me.  I couldn’t very easily break one....  It is that way with me, Mallett....  Besides, when I think, perhaps, that Jack Dysart is a trifle overbearing and too free with his snubs, I go somewhere and cool off; and I think that in his heart he must like me as well as I do him because, sooner or later, we always manage to drift together again....  That is one reason why I am so particular about his wife.”

Another reason happened to be that he had been in love with her himself when Dysart gracefully shouldered his way between them and married Rosalie Dene.  Duane had heard something about it; and he wondered a little at the loyalty to such a friendship that this young man so naively confessed.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Duane; “I think you’re the best sort of an anchor for Rosalie Dysart.  Only a fool would mistake your friendship.  But the town’s full of ’em, Grandcourt,” he added with a smile.

“I suppose so....  And I say, Mallett—­may I ask you something more?...  I don’t like to pester you with questions——­”

“Go on, my friend.  I take it as a clean compliment from a clean-cut man.”

Delancy coloured, checked, but presently found voice to continue: 

“That’s very good of you; I thought I might speak to you about this Greensleeve & Co.’s failure before Mrs. Dysart returns.”