“I don’t know whether you—no, I mustn’t say that; but I know what it is to be in love, Miss Bellairs; but what’s the good of talking about it? Everybody laughs.”
Miss Bellairs put down her parasol.
“I shouldn’t laugh,” she said softly. “It’s horrid to laugh at people when they’re in trouble,” and her eyes were very sympathetic.
“You are kind. I don’t mind talking about it to you. You know I’m not the sort of fellow who falls in love with every girl he meets; so of course it’s worse when I do.”
“Was it just lately?” murmured Dora.
“Last summer.”
“Ah! And—and didn’t she——?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Yes, hang it, I believe she did. She was perfectly straight, Miss Bellairs. I don’t say a word against her. She-I think she didn’t know her own feelings until—until I spoke, you know—and then——”
“Do go on, if—if it doesn’t——”
“Why, then, the poor girl cried and said it couldn’t be because she—she was engaged to another fellow; and she sent me away.”