It was quite unexpected, but he met me with his bold eyes and firm hand-clasp, and with that curious blend of his awkwardness and ease.

It was as though our last stormy meeting was forgotten; but I was not in the mood to have it forgotten.
"I have been looking up Jackson's case," I said abruptly.
He was all interested attention, and waited for me to go on, though I could see in his eyes the certitude that my convictions had been shaken.
"He seems to have been badly treated," I confessed.

"I--I--think some of his blood is dripping from our roof-beams." "Of course," he answered.

"If Jackson and all his fellows were treated mercifully, the dividends would not be so large." "I shall never be able to take pleasure in pretty gowns again," I added.
I felt humble and contrite, and was aware of a sweet feeling that Ernest was a sort of father confessor.

Then, as ever after, his strength appealed to me.