"I was afraid you would think—"
"Pray, what?" asked Claudia, in suspiciously calm tones.
Eugene was conscious he was not putting it in the happiest possible way; however, there was nothing for it but to go on now.
"Why, that—why, Claudia, that I shouldn't rush to you the moment I was free."
Claudia was sitting on a sofa, and as he said this Eugene came up and leant his hands on the back of it. He thought he had done it rather well at last. To his astonishment, she leapt up.
"This is too much!" she cried.
"Why, what?" exclaimed poor Eugene.
"To come and tell me to my face that you're afraid I've been crying for you for a month past!"
"Of course I don't mean—"
"Do I look very ill and worn?" demanded Claudia, with elaborate sarcasm. "Have I faded away? Make your mind easy, Mr. Lane. You will not have another girl's death at your door."