Belding stared at her astonished. "You must have known."
"Then possibly I did,—I wasn't sure. I—I didn't think of it much, but, Jimmy, I don't want to be married just now. You've been splendid ever since we met—and really I didn't want you to say what you did."
"Perhaps not in the way I said it." Belding's face became suddenly rigid. "And perhaps now I know why. You see it's hard for me to compete with my own chief," he added grimly.
"That's not fair," she burst out, her cheeks flaming. "If you really cared you wouldn't say it."
"I only want to know where I stand," he replied with sudden dignity.
"If you'll tell me that, I will be satisfied—for to-night."
Her mood changed in a flash. "That sounds better, but, Jimmy, must you know to-night? It's hard for me to tell you."
"Why?" he demanded. He wanted his answer, fraught with whatever fate.
"Because I don't just know myself," she said softly. "I wonder if I can explain. I am fond of you, Jimmy, more than you know, but I want to be fair to you and I want to be fair to myself as well. Have you never been in a state in which you were conscious that the world was full of things you had dreamed of but never expected to find actually?"
He stared at her with the swift intuition that there had been a season not long ago when he felt just like this. But now he was getting used to it.
"Yes," his voice was quite steady, "I know what you mean."