"So I'd have said—until a year ago—that is, about a year ago."
As her face turned quickly toward him, he turned profile to her.
"What do you mean?" said she, quickly, almost imperiously.
"Yes—I mean you," replied he.
"You mean you think I'm hindering him?"
When Drumley's voice finally came, it was funereally solemn.
"You are dragging him down. You are killing his ambition."
"You don't understand," she protested with painful expression.
"If you did, you wouldn't say that."
"You mean because he is not true to you?"
"Isn't he?" said she, loyally trying to pretend surprise. "If that's so, you've no right to tell me—you, his friend. If it isn't, you——"
"In either case I'd be beneath contempt—unless I knew that you knew already. Oh, I've known a long time that you knew—ever since the night you looked away when he absent-mindedly pulled a woman's veil and gloves out of his pocket. I've watched you since then, and I know."
"You are a very dear friend, Mr. Drumley," said she. "But you must not talk of him to me."