"She was."
"Does she love you, I wonder?"
"I think not. She never gave me half as much evidence of caring for me as——"
He stopped suddenly.
"As what?" she asked in swift alarm.
"As—forgive me, Emily—as you have this afternoon."
She stopped pulling instantly, her oar-blades lifted from the water in mid-stroke, drops trickling from them.
"Have I been bold and forward?" she cried in dismay. "Oh, what must you think of me?"
"You have been perfect," he answered, fervently; "simply perfect. I wouldn't have you changed an iota in any way. Don't let's talk about other people now. I'd rather talk about you. Tell me something about yourself, about the life you have lived, what you have done, what you have thought, what you have dreamed; tell me everything. I want to know it all."
"Yes, but are you sure you do not love her?"