"Oh, perfectly. You swore that her eyes were as are lights in a midnight desert; that her tints would rival the roseate pearl of a June sunset; that her smiles would be your only diet henceforth and forever; that her frown would be as terrible as the day of judgment. And now what has the other one to do with it?"
"Lawton, you will think I am crazy, and I am, perhaps—but I love her; and more than that, I believe she loves me. No word of it has passed between us, but—we understand."
"Oh, we do, eh? We—we understand," imitated Lawton. "Well, this is exceedingly interesting, I must say, although quite the thing to be expected from one of your temperament. How very fortunate you are in the choice of subjects, too."
"What do you mean, Harry?"
"Well, I should judge you might divide up your affections on those two without any serious confliction of sentiments."
"You are mistaken, though; I do not care for Evelin March at all, now. I am sorry I ever met her. I shall stop this foolish flirtation with her, at once."
"Quite likely. And when does Evelin come again?"
"To-morrow, perhaps."
"So; well, I'll just drop in to-morrow evening for the latest. Evelin seems to be a trifle outclassed just at present."
"Harry, you are unkind. I tell you I love that innocent girl on the easel there and mean to marry her."