rested on men and things with a kind of pensive wondering. All the same,
the heavy-browed face on a big, tense neck had a frowning, perhaps a
lowering expression that reminded Guion of a young bull before he begins
to charge. The lips beneath the fair mustache might be too tightly and
too severely compressed, but the smile into which they broke over
regular white teeth was the franker and the more engaging because of the
unexpected light. If there was any physical awkwardness about him, it
was in the management of his long legs; but that difficulty was overcome
by his simplicity. It was characteristic of Guion to notice, even at
such a time as this, that Davenant was carefully and correctly dressed,
like a man respectful of social usages.

"I came in to see you, Mr. Guion," he began, apparently with some
hesitation, "about what we were talking of last night."

Guion pulled himself together. His handsome eyebrows arched themselves,
and he half smiled.

"Last night? What _were_ we talking of?"

"We weren't talking of it, exactly. You only told us."

"Only told you--what?" The necessity to do a little fencing brought
some of his old powers into play.

"That you wanted to borrow half a million dollars. I've come in to--to
lend you that sum--if you'll take it."

For a few seconds Guion sat rigidly still, looking at this man. The
import and bearing of the words were too much for him to grasp at once.