"What Bob said, about you and his wife?" she interjected. "I don't, but it made me very angry just the same. You see, up to last night, you had been an ideal to me. Then suddenly you proposed to change all our relations; and just at that moment Bob came in and made those charges, which, though untrue, showed me how very human you would have to be to me if I accepted you, and I was bitter and lost my head."
"But if you didn't believe them, why did you refuse to give me a definite answer?"
"Because you'd brought me face to face with new conditions. I wanted to readjust myself to them."
"But if you love me—— Do you love me?" he said earnestly.
"Yes, Jim," she replied, with a quiet seriousness that carried conviction to him, "I do love you."
"Really, love me?"
"Really, more than I have loved any man—ever."
"But then, how can you doubt?" and he turned impulsively towards her.
"You'd better keep both hands on the reins—the pony is only just broken. As I was saying—I love you—in my way—but that's not all, it's merely the beginning. If I only had to meet you for the rest of our lives at afternoon tea and dinner, and we had on our best clothes and our company manners, there would be no question—but you see there are breakfasts and luncheons to be considered. Suppose after our honeymoon was over I was to discover that you wanted to live at West Hempstead, or dined habitually at the National Liberal Club, or wore ready-made suits—it might wreck my life's happiness."
Her sincerity had disappeared, and her change in manner grated on him. He was certain she did not mean what she was saying, but he forced a laugh in replying:—