"I've been afraid—you'd better hear the truth—to speak to you."
"I should like the truth, certainly, if I can get it. What have you been afraid to speak to me about?"
"Our engagement." She made the plunge, her eyes fixed apprehensively on his face. "I—I can't go on with it, Mr. Wellgood."
He had schooled himself for this answer; he made no outburst. His tone was mild; the cunning of jealousy gave him an alien smoothness.
"Sit down, my dear, and tell me why."
She sat facing him, his writing-table between them.
"My feelings haven't—haven't developed as I hoped they would."
"Oh, your feelings haven't developed?" he repeated slowly. "Towards me?"
"I reserved the right to change my mind—you remember?"
"And I the right to be unpleasant about it." He smiled under intent eyes.