She snatched her hand away from him, and turned her face to the wall once more.
“I understand you, Colonel Dacre. You have a secret, and one you would be ashamed to tell me.”
“Is that a necessary inference?” he inquired, in a low, constrained voice.
“I think so.”
“Perhaps you are too prejudiced to be just.”
“I don’t know why I should be. You and I were always good friends, in the social sense of the term. For instance, you always asked me for two or three dances when we met at a ball, and sometimes you even took me down to supper. I have even known you to shelter me from the sun by holding my parasol at a garden-party; and once you so far sacrificed yourself as to play croquet at my desire. After that I never allowed myself to doubt your devotion, I assure you; and I am surprised you should think I could be prejudiced against you.”
“Can you never be serious?” he said painfully.
“I am serious now.”
“I should be sorry to think so.”
“Why? I have not said anything bad, have I?”