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"
Now
,
really
,
"
he
answered
,
"
do
you
think
you
’
re
qualified
to
pass
judgment
on
philosophers
?
"
"
I
’
m
qualified
to
pass
judgment
on
con
men
.
I
’
ve
seen
enough
of
them
to
know
one
when
I
see
him
.
"
"
Now
this
is
why
I
say
that
you
’
ll
never
outgrow
your
background
.
If
you
had
,
you
would
have
learned
to
appreciate
Dr
.
Pritchett
’
s
philosophy
.
"
"
What
philosophy
?
"
"
If
you
don
’
t
understand
it
,
I
can
’
t
explain
.
"
She
would
not
let
him
end
the
conversation
on
that
favorite
formula
of
his
.
"
Jim
,
"
she
said
,
"
he
’
s
a
phony
,
he
and
Balph
Eubank
and
that
whole
gang
of
theirs
—
and
I
think
you
’
ve
been
taken
in
by
them
.
"
Instead
of
the
anger
she
expected
,
she
saw
a
brief
flash
of
amusement
in
the
lift
of
his
eyelids
.
"
That
’
s
what
you
think
,
"
he
answered
.
She
felt
an
instant
of
terror
at
the
first
touch
of
a
concept
she
had
not
known
to
be
possible
:
What
if
Jim
was
not
taken
in
by
them
?
She
could
understand
the
phoniness
of
Dr
.
Pritchett
,
she
thought
—
it
was
a
racket
that
gave
him
an
undeserved
income
;
she
could
even
admit
the
possibility
,
by
now
,
that
Jim
might
be
a
phony
in
his
own
business
;
what
she
could
not
hold
inside
her
mind
was
the
concept
of
Jim
as
a
phony
in
a
racket
from
which
he
gained
nothing
,
an
unpaid
phony
,
an
unvenal
phony
;
the
phoniness
of
a
cardsharp
or
a
con
man
seemed
innocently
wholesome
by
comparison
.
She
could
not
conceive
of
his
motive
;
she
felt
only
that
the
headlight
moving
upon
her
had
grown
larger
.
She
could
not
remember
by
what
steps
,
what
accumulation
of
pain
,
first
as
small
scratches
of
uneasiness
,
then
as
stabs
of
bewilderment
,
then
as
the
chronic
,
nagging
pull
of
fear
,
she
had
begun
to
doubt
Jim
’
s
position
on
the
railroad
.
It
was
his
sudden
,
angry
"
so
you
don
’
t
trust
me
?
"
snapped
in
answer
to
her
first
,
innocent
questions
that
made
her
realize
that
she
did
not
—
when
the
doubt
had
not
yet
formed
in
her
mind
and
she
had
fully
expected
that
his
answers
would
reassure
her
.
She
had
learned
,
in
the
slums
of
her
childhood
,
that
honest
people
were
never
touchy
about
the
matter
of
being
trusted
,
"
I
don
’
t
care
to
talk
shop
,
"
was
his
answer
whenever
she
mentioned
the
railroad
.
She
tried
to
plead
with
him
once
.
"
Jim
,
you
know
what
I
think
of
your
work
and
how
much
I
admire
you
for
it
.
"
"
Oh
,
really
?
What
is
it
you
married
,
a
man
or
a
railroad
president
?
"
"
I
.
.
.
I
never
thought
of
separating
the
two
.
"
"
Well
,
it
is
not
very
flattering
to
me
.
"
She
looked
at
him
,
baffled
:
she
had
thought
it
was
.
"
I
’
d
like
to
believe
,
"
he
said
,
"
that
you
love
me
for
myself
,
and
not
for
my
railroad
.
"
"
Oh
God
,
Jim
,
"
she
gasped
,
"
you
didn
’
t
think
that
I
—
!
"
"
No
,
"
he
said
,
with
a
sadly
generous
smile
,
"
I
didn
’
t
think
that
you
married
me
for
my
money
or
my
position
.
I
have
never
doubted
you
.
"
Realizing
,
in
stunned
confusion
and
in
tortured
fairness
,
that
she
might
have
given
him
ground
to
misinterpret
her
feeling
,
that
she
had
forgotten
how
many
bitter
disappointments
he
must
have
suffered
at
the
hands
of
fortune
-
hunting
women
,
she
could
do
nothing
but
shake
her
head
and
moan
,
"
Oh
,
Jim
,
that
’
s
not
what
I
meant
!
"
He
chuckled
softly
,
as
at
a
child
,
and
slipped
his
arm
around
her
.
"
Do
you
love
me
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Yes
,
"
she
whispered
.
"
Then
you
must
have
faith
in
me
.
Love
is
faith
,
you
know
.
Don
’
t
you
see
that
I
need
it
?
I
don
’
t
trust
anyone
around
me
,
I
have
nothing
but
enemies
,
I
am
very
lonely
.
Don
’
t
you
know
that
I
need
you
?
"
The
thing
that
made
her
pace
her
room
—
hours
later
,
in
tortured
restlessness
—
was
that
she
wished
desperately
to
believe
him
and
did
not
believe
a
word
of
it
,
yet
knew
that
it
was
true
.
It
was
true
,
but
not
in
the
manner
he
implied
,
not
in
any
manner
or
meaning
she
could
ever
hope
to
grasp
.
It
was
true
that
he
needed
her
,
but
the
nature
of
his
need
kept
slipping
past
her
every
effort
to
define
it
.
She
did
not
know
what
he
wanted
of
her
.
It
was
not
flattery
that
he
wanted
,
she
had
seen
him
listening
to
the
obsequious
compliments
of
liars
,
listening
with
a
look
of
resentful
inertness
—
almost
the
look
of
a
drug
addict
at
a
dose
inadequate
to
rouse
him
.
But
she
had
seen
him
look
at
her
as
if
he
were
waiting
for
some
reviving
shot
and
,
at
times
,
as
if
he
were
begging
.
She
had
seen
a
flicker
of
life
in
his
eyes
whenever
she
granted
him
some
sign
of
admiration
—
yet
a
burst
of
anger
was
his
answer
,
whenever
she
named
a
reason
for
admiring
him
.
