Now he was almost touching Daisy, and he smiled involuntarily as she turned her gay, pretty little face the better to hear what he was saying.
"Yes, Mr. Chandler?" she said interrogatively.
"Well, d’you remember that fellow what killed an old gentleman in a railway carriage? He took refuge with someone—a woman his mother had known, and she kept him hidden for quite a long time. But at last she gave him up, and she got a big reward, too!"
"I don’t think I’d like to give anybody up for a reward," said Bunting, in his slow, dogmatic way.
"Oh, yes, you would, Mr. Bunting," said Chandler confidently. "You’d only be doing what it’s the plain duty of everyone—everyone, that is, who’s a good citizen. And you’d be getting something for doing it, which is more than most people gets as does their duty."
"A man as gives up someone for a reward is no better than a common informer," went on Bunting obstinately. "And no man ’ud care to be called that! It’s different for you, Joe," he added hastily. "It’s your job to catch those who’ve done anything wrong. And a man’d be a fool who’d take refuge-like with you. He’d be walking into the lion’s mouth" Bunting laughed.
And then Daisy broke in coquettishly: "If I’d done anything I wouldn’t mind going for help to Mr. Chandler," she said.
And Joe, with eyes kindling, cried, "No. And if you did you needn’t be afraid I’d give you up, Miss Daisy!"
And then, to their amazement, there suddenly broke from Mrs. Bunting, sitting with bowed head over the table, an exclamation of impatience and anger, and, it seemed to those listening, of pain.
