“Well, the answer is so evident.”
“Is it?” Hilda had looked away at the dancers; she turned her head now half unwillingly and glanced at him, smiling.
“I would not have refused him if I had loved him, would I? You know that. It doesn’t seem quite fair, quite kind, to talk of, does it?”
“Not to me even? I have been interested in it for a long time. Katherine told me, and Mary.”
“I don’t know why they should have been so sure,” said Hilda, with some hardness of tone. “I never encouraged him. I avoided him.” She looked at Odd again. “But I am not angry with you; if any one has a right, you have.”
“Thanks; thanks, dear. You understand, you know my interest, my anxiety. It seemed so—happy for both. And you care for no one else?”
“No one else.” Hilda’s eyes rested on his with clear sincerity.
“Don’t you ever intend to marry, Hilda?” Odd was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, and looking at the floor. There was certainly a tension in his voice, and he felt that Hilda was scanning him with some wonder.
“Does a refusal to take one person imply that? I have made no vows.”
“I don’t see—“ Odd paused; “I don’t see why you shouldn’t care for Hope.”