"I mean, if"—he comes closer to her—"Tita, if _you _had known a man who loved you before you were married, and if when you did marry—"
"But she didn't marry him at all," interrupts Tita. "He died—or something—I forget what."
"Yes; but think."
"There is nothing to think about. He died—so stupid of him; and now she is making one of the nicest men I know miserable, all because she has made up her mind to be wretched for ever! So stupid of her!"
"Has it ever occurred to you that there is such a thing as love?" asks Hescott, looking at her with a sudden frown.
"Oh, I've heard of it," with a little shrug of her pretty shoulders; "but I don't believe in it. It's a myth! a fable!"
"And yet"—with an anger that he can hardly hide, seeing her standing there so young, so fair, so debonnair before him—so insensible to the passion for her that is stirring within his heart—"and yet your friend, Miss Knollys, is giving up her life, you say, to the consecration of this myth."
Tita nods.
"Yes; isn't she silly! I told you she was very foolish."
"You assure me honestly that you don't believe in love?"