"You haven't forgiven me that? It might pay to 'try' and marry an American girl."
"Well," admitted Loveland on an impulse, "no matter how much I might want to, I couldn't marry one if it didn't pay."
"Now you are being frank," replied Miss Lesley. "I like people to be frank."
"So do I," said Loveland, "when that doesn't mean being disagreeable, as it generally does from one's relations, especially one's maiden aunts."
"England expects that every aunt will do her duty."
"Luckily you're not my aunt, so please don't do yours if it's unpleasant. But couldn't we be frank—and friends? I should like most awfully to have you for my friend. You could be no end valuable to me, you know, about giving me good advice, if you would."
She laughed. "I dare say. But could you be valuable to me?"
Loveland wished that he might dare to be dangerous; but the idea of having her for a friend, into whose pink shell of an ear he could pour confidences, really attracted him—since her value, not being cash value, could be realised by him in no other way. And, of course, if she would promise to be his friend, it would be caddish to make love to her. He felt very virtuous as he laid down this rule for himself.
"I'll let you study me as much as you like, and put me into your next story."
"As the villain?"