She laughs.
"What a jealous fellow you are, Ted!"
"Am I?"—ruefully. "I don't think I used to be. I never remember being jealous before."
"No? I am glad to hear it."
"Why?"
"Because"—with an adorable glance and a faint pressure of his arm—"it proves to me you have never loved before."
This tender insinuation blots out all remaining vapors, leaving the atmosphere clear and free of clouds for the rest of their walk, which lasts till almost evening. Just before they reach the house, Luttrell says, with hesitation:
"I have something to say to you, but I am afraid if I do say it you will be angry."
"Then don't say it," says Miss Massereene, equably. "That is about the most foolish thing one can do. To make a person angry unintentionally is bad enough, but to know you are going to do it, and to say so, has something about it rash, not to say impertinent. If you are fortunate enough to know the point in the conversation that is sure to rouse me to wrath, why not carefully skirt round it?"
"Because I lose a chance if I leave it unsaid; and you differ so widely from most girls—it may not provoke you."