“Haven’t I told you?”
“When I don’t love you?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Peter, with a notable air of experienced man of the world. “And it seems to me you’re only showing what a fine girl you are. I’d be inclined to shy off from a girl who loved me before we were married. I like delicacy—and—and reserve—and purity—in a—a lady. By Jove, it seems to me there’s something kind of—of brazen and forward in a girl’s giving way to her feelings—when—when—she’s not supposed to know about that kind of thing. It’s—it’s—well, it smacks of the lower classes. They go in for that sort of thing—they and the sort of women one doesn’t talk about.”
A long silence followed this outburst of upper-class philosophy. Peter was revolving what he had said, with increasing admiration for his own acumen. As for Beatrice, after a fleeting smile of derision which he did not see, she resumed her own distinct line of thought. She looked at him several times—a scrutinizing look—a look of appeal—a look of doubt. Finally she said with some effort: “Peter—suppose I told you I loved another man?”
He shook his head incredulously. “You wouldn’t love any man till you had the right to. Besides, where is there another man who’s so exactly what you want in every way? You know we’re exactly suited to each other, Beatrice. It’s—it’s like predestination. You’d hate to give me up as much as I’d hate to give you up.”
Centered though her mind was on whether she could venture to make a confidant of him, she began to wonder at him. True, she had permitted him to speak frankly. True, their intimate acquaintance from childhood made him feel free to exhibit his innermost self without any especial nervousness or reserve. But there still remained something unaccounted for. Where had he got the courage to face her thus aggressively? How came he to be infatuated with himself so far beyond the loftiest soarings of his most self-satisfied mood theretofore? It was not long before her feminine shrewdness pointed her to the cause. “Some woman’s been at him—been trying to get him away from me.” In ordinary circumstances this would have pleased her no better than it would please the next woman. But just then she sincerely hoped her underminer had been successful.
“Peter,” said she thoughtfully, “have you been considering giving me up?”
Peter looked flustered. But he did not hem and haw; he came straight back at her. “I haven’t liked the way you’ve kept me on the string,” confessed he.
“Is there some other girl?” inquired she eagerly.
“I’ve seen quite a lot of Allie lately,” admitted Peter, and his manner let her know that he had been giving a large amount of thought to the advantages of making her jealous. “And I’m sure if I’d been to Allie what I’ve been to you she’d not treat me as you have.”