Stanley looked confused, finally said: "Yes, she is. It's a queer story. Don't say anything. I can't explain. I know I can trust you to keep a close mouth."
"Minding my own business is my one supreme talent," said Cyrilla.
"She hasn't accepted me—in so many words," pursued Baird, "but I've hopes that it'll come out all right."
"Naturally," commented Cyrilla dryly.
"I know I'm not—not objectionable to her. And how I do love her!" He settled himself at his ease. "I can't believe it's really me. I never thought I'd marry—just for love. Did you?"
"You're very self-indulgent," said Cyrilla.
"You mean I'm marrying her because I can't get her any other way. There's where you're wrong, Mrs. Brindley. I'm marrying her because I don't want her any other way. That's why I know it's love. I didn't think I was capable of it. Of course, I've been rather strong after the ladies all my life. You know how it is with men."
"I do," said Mrs. Brindley.
"No, you don't either," retorted he. "You're one of those cold, stand-me-off women who can't comprehend the nature of man."
"As you please," said she. In her eyes there was a gleam that more than suggested a possibility of some man—some man she might fancy—seeing an amazingly different Cyrilla Brindley.