“I should not call it tragic,” Tavernake answered, reluctantly. “One gathers, however, that something transpired between you before she left, of a serious nature.”
She looked at him earnestly.
“Really,” she said, “you are a strange, stolid young man. I wonder,” she went on, smiling into his face, “are you in love with my sister?”
Tavernake made no immediate response, only something flashed for a moment in his eyes which puzzled her.
“Why do you look at me like that?” she demanded. “You are not angry with me for asking?”
“No, I am not angry,” he replied. “It isn't that. But you must know—you must see!”
Then she indeed did see that he was laboring under a very great emotion. She leaned towards him, laughing softly.
“Now you are really becoming interesting,” she murmured. “Tell me—tell me all about it.”
“I don't know what love is!” Tavernake declared fiercely. “I don't know what it means to be in love!”
Again she laughed in his face.