He gave her a look of frank surprise and suspicion. “What are you driving at?” he demanded. “Now, don’t look innocent. Out with it!”
“I don’t understand,” said she, smiling.
“Pardon me, but you do—perfectly. What are you wheedling for?”
“How can we be friends,” pleaded she, “if you’re always suspecting me?”
“We’re not going to be friends,” replied he positively. “This—here and now—is the end.”
It was evident that his words had given her a shock—a curious shock of surprise, as if she had expected some very different reception to this proffer of hers. However, after a brief reflection she seemed to recover. “How can so clever a man as you be so foolish?” expostulated she. “You know as well as you’re sitting there that we simply can’t help being friends.”
“Friends—yes,” he conceded. “But we’re not going to see each other.”
“And what would I say to Pete?”
“Something clever and satisfying. By the way, how did you manage to get away with it when you reached home?”
She laughed delightedly. She was looking her most innocent, most youthful. “Oh, such a time!” cried she. “Mother— You don’t know mother, so you can’t appreciate. But you will, when you do know her. It was a three-cornered row—Heck and mother and I. Heck took a shine to you, so he was really about half on my side. I told just how I met you—the whole story—except I didn’t tell the exact truth about the picture.”