"Yes? Well!"
She kept silence.
"Is it any good?" he asked again.
"How should I know?" asked Beatrix. "You don't suppose she's confided in me that she's dying for love of you!"
He turned to look at her. Her pretty face was pink, and a trifle scornful. "Oh, I say!" he exclaimed. "What have I said to put you in a bait?"
"Are you in love with her?" asked Beatrix.
"I should think you could see that, can't you?" he said, with a slight droop. "I don't know that I've taken particular pains to hide it."
"Well then, why don't you tell her so? It's the usual thing to do, isn't it?"
He laughed. "Which brings us back to where we were before," he said.
"I'm not going to give you any encouragement," said Beatrix. "If you really love her, and don't ask her without wanting to know beforehand what she'll say—well, of course, you can't really love her."