Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced.
“Friends! Nonsense! When—”
But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the true state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark of pride.
“Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're friends—the best of friends; that is all. We couldn't be anything else, possibly!”
Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into her friend's flushed countenance.
“You mean—because of—Hugh Calderwell?” she demanded. Then, for the second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went on plaintively: “You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr. Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And—” But a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted.
“And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?” she demanded. There was a curious note of something very like relief in her voice.
“Well, I didn't know,” began Billy, uncertainly.
“Then I'll tell you now,” smiled Alice. “I'm not. Furthermore, perhaps it's just as well that you should know right now that I don't intend to marry—ever.”
“Oh, Alice!”