There was no ostentation in his reply. But somehow Nell Clearwater felt not quite so well content with her “class”—or with her claim to it. That personal claim now seemed distinctly vulgar in contrast with his dignity. She said:
“What was your other reason for not coming?”
He gazed directly at her. “Why should I tell it when you know already?”
Again she colored. “You are impertinent,” said she haughtily. Then the color flamed, for she instantly realized how she had trapped herself.
He laughed with engaging gentleness. “Not impertinent,” he urged. “Not presuming, even.... I don’t want you, Miss Clearwater. I stay away simply because I don’t intend to allow myself to want you.” Into his gray eyes came a look that no woman could fail to understand. “If I did want you——” He smiled, and she drew back sharply—“If I did want you, I’d act very differently.”
She forced a scornful laugh. “Do you think you could possibly have any hope with me?”
“I do,” was his firm reply. “I didn’t until to-day. Now I—know it.”
“What vanity!”
“No. Not vanity. Intuition. The fact that you brought the subject up and insisted on discussing it proves that you have thought about it seriously.”
“Really!” exclaimed she, with angry irony.