"I notice you don't deny," retorted Tetlow shrewdly.
"Deny what? There's nothing to deny." He felt secure now that he knew she had been reticent with Tetlow as to the happenings in the cottage.
"Maybe I'm wronging you," said Tetlow, but not in the tone of belief. "However that may be, I know you'll not refuse to listen to my appeal. I love her, Norman. I'm going to make her my wife if I can. And I ask you—for the sake of our old friendship—to let her alone. I've no doubt you could dazzle her. You couldn't make a bad woman of her. But you could make her very miserable."
Norman pushed about the papers before him. His face wore a cynical smile; but Tetlow, who knew him in all his moods, saw that he was deeply agitated.
"I don't know that I can win her, Fred," he pleaded. "But I feel that I might if I had a fair chance."
"You think she'd refuse you?" said Norman.
"Like a flash, unless I'd made her care for me. That's the kind she is."
"That sounds absurd. Why, there isn't a woman in New York who would refuse a chance to take a high jump up."
"I'd have said so, too. But since I've gotten acquainted with her I've learned better. She may be spoiled some day, but she hasn't been yet. God knows, I wish I could tempt her. But I can't."
"You're entirely too credulous, old man. She'll make a fool of you."