"If I did," he said, "I wasn't the only one."
"Oh, I know," she said, "but I don't suppose I should have if you hadn't. Though unjust suspicions like that are enough to make anybody blush. Yes, they were unjust because you had nothing to do with my going out the first time—why, I didn't even know there was a you. And now all the fat's in the fire, and she's taking me to Ireland or Scotland to-morrow—she won't say which. And I couldn't bear to go and have you think I'd made an appointment and not kept it. It's so unbusiness-like to break appointments," she said.
"Does she suppose, then, that we—that I am—that you have—that I should—?"
"I don't know what she supposes. At least I do. But it's too silly. Now I've explained everything. Good-by. I'm glad you found the handkerchief—and I'm awfully glad about Charles."
"I didn't know you knew his name."
"The stableman said it when the dog ran between his knees and nearly knocked him down. It's a darling dog—but isn't it strong! Good-by!" She held out her hand. "Good-by," she said, again.
"No," said he, and held the hand.
There was a little pause.
"Say good-by," she said. "Indeed I must go."
"Why?" he asked, releasing the hand.