“Hasn’t she? Well, that’s all right, and we can be chums again. I only wanted to warn you against putting faith in a chit that can wear a new face easier than her dress, to you, or Modred, or—or any one.”
“Modred!” I cried, in astonishment.
“Oh, don’t suppose,” he said, “that you’re sole lord of her heart.”
“I never did suppose it,” I answered, thickly. “Why should I? She’s free to fancy whom she likes”—but my heart sunk within me.
“Yes; that’s the way to look at it,” he said. “You wouldn’t think she could find much to admire in that fatty, now, would you?”
“How do you know she does?”
“I do know—that’s enough.”
“Well, isn’t he a sort of brother to her?” I said—with a courageous effort—“as we all are.”
“Of course. That’s it.”
“And I don’t know what you mean by ‘any one’ else.”