“Well—well, I don't see why—well, I'm goin' to, ain't I? You don't have to be in such a hurry about it, do you?”
“Lem!”
“All right, I'm goin'. But all right for you!” On his way up the stairs he passed Henrietta coming down, and she touched him lightly on the shoulder in sign of her good-will. She was going down to meet Carter Bruce, who had insisted that she see him that morning. She found him awaiting her on the porch, in a mood not exactly pleasant.
“I've got to have something definite,” he said, when he had told her why he had come. “This can't go on a day longer.”
“I'm glad,” said Henrietta.
“Glad about what? Glad Gay is so thoroughly infatuated with that sneak—with Freeman?”
“No, glad you know now that you do love Gay,” said Henrietta. “That was what I hoped for, Carter: that you would discover it. For you do love her. And, if you do, I need not worry. Gay will not prefer Freeman to you; not if you are bold, as a lover should be.”
“She does, though,” said Carter. “I don't care what he is, he has a way with women.”
“Why don't you have a way with them, then, if that is what is needed?”
“Because I have n't it, that's all! I'm slow. Henrietta, she likes him best. She likes me, but I have no chance with him around. He has to go. You've got to give me facts. Where is this wife of his? How can I prove he has a wife? You owe it to me, and to Gay, and to the wife, to tell me.”