“I should, I should. It was my perversity drove you up there.”
“Now that it was not. It was Cabarus if it was anybody. You could not know he wanted me to make that opportunity for him.”
It was a tonic reference. She sat up, her bosom still tumultuous, but with a scornful frown lined between her eyebrows.
“Opportunity!” she ejaculated—“that imbecile!”
I laughed—the base comfortable chuckle of the successful suitor.
“For loving you?” I said—“or what?”
“How dared he—the presumption! And when we had known him so short a time!”
“Really, gossip,” I said, “I think he had some excuse.”
“How?”
“You seemed to like him—I want to tread delicately.”