When they had sat there in the moonlight several minutes in silence, she said: "I find I haven't anything especial to say to you, after all."
A wait, then from him: "I'm sorry. I had hoped—" He halted.
"Hoped—what?"
"Hoped it was off with you and Whitney."
"Has some one been saying it was?" she asked sharply.
"No. I thought I felt it when I first saw you."
"Oh!" she said, enormously relieved. A pause, then constrainedly, "Your guess was right."
"And was that why you sent for me?"
The assent of silence.
"You thought perhaps you might—care for—me?"