A second later she would have given much to have the words unsaid.
They faced each other in silence, the color mounting steadily in
Sidney's face.

"I didn't mean of ME," she stammered uncomfortably; "I meant of
everything. I thought--but it was a silly thing to say. It sounded--
I didn't think--"

"I don't know why you shouldn't have thought it, since I was fool
enough to show it," said Barry after a moment, coming over to her
desk and facing her squarely. Sidney stood up, opposite him, her
heart beating wildly. "And I don't know why I shouldn't be jealous,"
he went on steadily, "at the idea that some old friend might come in
here and take you away from Santa Paloma. You asked me if it was old
Rogers' going that made a difference to me--"

"I know," interrupted Sidney, scarlet-cheeked. "PLEASE"--

"But you know better than that," Barry went on, his voice rising a
little. "You know what you have done for me. If ever I try to speak
of it, you say, as you said about the kid just now, 'My dear boy, I
like to do it.' But I'm going to say what I mean now, once and for
all. You loaned me money, and it was through your lending it that I
got credit to borrow more; you gave me a chance to be my own master;
you showed you had faith in me; you reminded me of the ambition I
had as a kid, before Hetty and all that trouble had crushed it out
of me; you came down here to the office and talked and planned, and
took it for granted that I was going to pull myself together and
stop idling, and kicking, and fooling away my time; and all through
these six weeks of rough sailing, you've let me go up there to the