"No," she replied brusquely, "you are not; You've summed up my character very well, but you must remember that you've nothing to gain or lose in this matter. You're merely playing the game—directing the moves of the pawns. The problem is interesting, amusing, if you like, but whether you win or lose, you've nothing wagered on the result. But the pawn! Its very existence is at stake—a false move is made, and it disappears from the board."
"Quite true! But the pawn has a better chance of life, if the moves are considered calmly, than if played at random; it is then inevitably lost."
"You're right," she said, seating herself on a grassy bank near by: "perfectly right. Let us talk this matter over calmly. I shan't forget myself again."
He seated himself beside her.
"Now frankly," she continued, "before you saw me, or spoke to me, you'd made up your mind to save your friend from my clutches, had you not? I beg your pardon—doubtless, you'd disapprove of such an expression—we'll say, you had determined to prevent him from marrying me."
"Frankly speaking, yes, I had."
"But you knew nothing about me; you could know nothing about me, except on hearsay."
"Pardon me—I knew your late father, and I was at Colonel Belleston's, when you ran off with his heir-apparent, and were not found till half the country-side had been searched, and the dinner quite spoiled."
"But Georgie Belleston was only eight, and I scarcely twelve. We had determined, I remember, to join a circus—no, he wanted to fight Indians; but it was childish nonsense."
"The spirit was there, nevertheless. But in the present case I was considering Mr. Stanley, I must confess, rather than yourself. The world, my dear young lady, is an open market, a prosaic, mercantile world."