"Nothing."

"Quite a dramatic disappearance, isn't it?" she continued. "Another
scrape, I suppose, and another letter for you in the same old strain;
'Dear Jem, help me out.'"

Jem Benson blew a cloud of fragrant smoke into the air, and holding his
cigar between his teeth brushed away the ash from his coat sleeves.

"I wonder what he would have done without you," said the girl, pressing
his arm affectionately. "Gone under long ago, I suppose. When we are
married, Jem, I shall presume upon the relationship to lecture him. He
is very wild, but he has his good points, poor fellow."

"I never saw them," said Benson, with startling bitterness. "God knows I
never saw them."

"He is nobody's enemy but his own," said the girl, startled by this
outburst.

"You don't know much about him," said the other, sharply. "He was not
above blackmail; not above ruining the life of a friend to do himself a
benefit. A loafer, a cur, and a liar!"

The girl looked up at him soberly but timidly and took his arm without a
word, and they both sat silent while evening deepened into night and the
beams of the moon, filtering through the branches, surrounded them with a
silver network. Her head sank upon his shoulder, till suddenly with a
sharp cry she sprang to her feet.