"In a way, yes," conceded Arkwright. "He has a certain sort of magnetism." He pulled himself up short. "This morning," said he, "I apologized to him for my treachery; and here I am at it again."
"I don't mind," said Margaret. "It's quite harmless."
"That's it!" exclaimed Grant in gloomy triumph. "You can't care for me because you think me harmless."
"Well, aren't you?"
"Yes," he admitted, "I couldn't give anybody—at least, not a blase Washington society girl—anything approaching a sensation. I understand the mystery at last."
"Do you?" said Margaret, with a queer expression in her eyes. "I wish I did."
Grant reflected upon this, could make nothing of it. "I don't believe you're really in love with him," he finally said.
"Was that what you told him you wished to talk to me about?"
"I didn't tell him I wanted to talk with you," protested Grant. "He asked me to try to persuade you not to marry him."
"Well—persuade!"