“You're not listening. You're not listening at all,” complained Alice Greggory at last, reproachfully.
With a visible effort the man roused himself.
“Indeed I am,” he maintained.
“I thought you'd be interested in the wedding. You used to be friends—you and Billy.” The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach.
There was a moment's silence; then, a little harshly, the man said:
“Perhaps—because I wanted to be more than—a friend—is why you're not satisfied with my interest now.”
A look that was almost terror came to Alice Greggory's eyes. She flushed painfully, then grew very white.
“You mean—”
“Yes,” he nodded dully, without looking up. “I cared too much for her. I supposed Henshaw was just a friend—till too late.”
There was a breathless hush before, a little unsteadily, the girl stammered: