"You have had so many friends, such a beautiful life," he answered.
She smiled at him.
"Dear," she said, "do you think any of these things are worth a moment's consideration to a woman against the love of the man she cares for? We are all the same, though some of us do not wear our hearts upon our sleeves. The longing for love is always there, and the women who go hungry for it through life are the women to be pitied. Douglas, I would change places with that simple, dark-eyed little girl you were with this evening if—if I could marry you to-morrow. Is that too bold?"
He started away. A sudden fear wrenched at his heartstrings. He looked at her wildly.
"Do you mean that you will not be my wife—that you care for me, but not enough to marry me?" he cried. She shook her head slowly.
"No, dear," she said, "for if I were a princess and you were a shopkeeper I would marry you, and be proud of my husband. Don't think so meanly of me as that. There is another—a more powerful reason."
"Tell it me," he begged; "don't keep me in suspense."
She thrust her arm through his and led him gently to the sofa.
"Douglas, won't you trust me? I want to keep my secret for a little while. Listen. It shall not keep us apart, but I cannot be your wife yet, dearly though I would love to be."
The old mistrust blazed up in the man. Drexley's cynicism, Strong's ravings came back to him. He, too, was to be fooled. Her love was a pretence. He was simply a puppet, to yield her amusement and to be thrown aside.