only of Martin and herself.

Both Peter and her father were watching her with an uneasiness and
suspicion that had sprung into being full-blown. Both men were
asking themselves what they knew of this strange young man who was
suddenly a part of their intimate little world.

He was simply a man; not unusual in any apparent way. He was ready
with his words, fairly good-looking, clean and muscular, his
evident lack of polish in languages and letters atoned for by his
quick wit, and by a certain boyish artlessness and ingenuousness.
He represented himself as about to receive an excellent salary at
the mine at El Nido, two thousand a year, but also admitted
cheerfully that he was always "broke." He had distinguished
himself at college, but had left it after only two years, upon
being offered a promising position. There was nothing especially
to admire in him, nothing especially to blame; under other
circumstances Peter and the doctor might have pronounced him as
one of the least interesting of human specimens. The beauty of
childhood and adolescence were gone, the ripeness given by years
and suffering was wanting; Martin Lloyd was just, as he himself
laughingly remarked, "one of the fellers."

Peter had secretly criticized him because he used the words
"'phone" and "photo" and "'Frisco," but in justice he had to admit
to himself that there was no particular significance to the
criticism. He also, in his secret heart, had a vague, dissatisfied
feeling that Lloyd was a man who held women, as a class, rather in
disrespect, and had probably had his experiences with them, but
there was no way of expressing, much less governing, his conduct