"I shall miss you," Angus told her. Her eyes rested on him gravely for a long moment.
"I know what you mean," she said. "You liked me because I was a frank sort of individual. You may think of me now and then, when there is nothing else on your mind. But as for missing me—pshaw! Nobody will miss me. I had no friends."
It was brutally true. Kathleen French, highly organized, sensitive, proud, had repelled friendships. She had hidden real loneliness under a cloak of indifference. Apparently sufficient unto herself, others had taken her at her own apparent valuation. Her voice was tinged with bitterness. Angus realized vaguely a part of the truth.
"I don't think anybody thought you wanted friends."
"Everybody wants friends," she returned. "Often the people who want them most have not the knack of making them. But I am not complaining. I have always been able to take my medicine without making a very bad face."
"You are a clean, straight, game girl," he said. "One of these days you will marry, and your husband will be a lucky man."
She smiled for the first time, but her mouth twitched slightly.
"I am game enough," she said. "I suppose that goes with the breed—like other things. Oh, yes, I am game enough to run true under punishment. But as for marrying—I don't think so. I was in love once—or thought I was."
"I didn't know about that," Angus said in surprise. "I'm sorry I said anything."
"No, of course you didn't know. Nobody did—not even the man in the case. He married another girl."