Toby suddenly laughed. "No one to grouse to! It would be rather dull certainly. Why didn't you fall in love with Sheila Melrose?"
"Sheila Melrose! Why on earth should I?" Bunny spoke with some sharpness.
Toby lifted mischievous eyes. "She's pretty and graceful and accomplished. She'd make a charming Lady Brian, and she has an estate of her own for you to manage. It—it would be—a highly suitable arrangement for you both."
"Don't talk rot!" broke in Bunny with sudden heat.
His hold tightened upon her, and she made a quick, instinctive movement as though to free herself. "I'm not! You know I'm not! You know—quite well—that if—if—if it hadn't been for me—because you chanced to meet me first—you certainly would have—have fallen in love with her!"
Toby spoke breathlessly, stammering a little as her habit was when agitated. Her face was averted, and she was trying very, very hard to resist the closer drawing of his arms.
But there were times when Bunny would not endure resistance, and this was one of them. He simply ignored it, till abruptly she yielded to his mastery. And then in a moment he was tender again.
"Why did you say that?" he said, bending low to look into her downcast face. "Tell me why you said it! Are you—jealous—by any chance?"
"Oh, no!" declared Toby with vehemence. "No—no—no!"
"Then why?" he persisted. Then with sudden intuition: "You don't like her, do you?"