The pathos of this girl's loyalty had touched him; her chance in life had been the slightest, she had been wayward and had erred deeply, and yet there were fastnesses of honor in her soul that remained unassailable.
Her agitation distressed him; he had never seen her like this; he missed the little affectations and the droll retorts that had always amused him.

She was no longer the imperturbable and ready young woman whose unwearying sunniness and amazing intuitions had so often helped him through perplexities.
"As a matter of your own honor, Rose, you wouldn't tell me.

But if the honor of some one else--" She shook her head slowly, and he paused.
"No," she said.

"I'm only a poor little devil of a stenog and I've been clear down,--you know that,--but I won't do it.

I turned down Thatcher's ten thousand dollars, and I turned it down hard.