"There's a girl you and I know..." Joyce put in reminiscently, seeing in mind a pleasing vision, "and the man who gets her will be the luckiest fellow in the world."
"He certainly will."
"How do you know whom I mean?"
"You mean Miss Bright of Muktiarbad."
Joyce opened wide her blue eyes which were the colour of forget-me-nots, and stared. "Are you a thought-reader?"
"It was easy reading, for there is only one girl we mutually know who fits your description entirely, and she is Miss Honor Bright. She has been reared to live up to her name."
"And you found that out though you hardly ever speak to her?"
"It is rather wonderful, isn't it?" he asked with his crooked smile.
"Then—why—?" There were limits to curiosity, but her expressive eyes spoke the rest of her question direct to his.
"Why don't I cultivate Miss Bright? The answer is simple. I am not seeking a wife, and I have no interest in friendships."