"But you have. I was going to write to you."
"You were?"
"Yes; I'm not much of a hand at it, but I was going to make a shot. I was going to ask you if you—if you were preferring—oh—you understand what I mean—if you didn't like my thrusting my attentions on you—well—as I—as I had been doing. I was going to write that to-night."
She looked up with wide eyes—the eyes that Traill had first loved—but she said nothing.
"Well?" he asked, pressing her to the answer. "What would have been your reply?"
"I really don't know," she said honestly.
"You don't care for me?" he exclaimed. "I'm not the sort of chap who—"
"Oh, it's not that!"
"Then, what?"
She met his eyes steadily. "It's—am I the sort of woman?"