"What is it?" he said kindly. "I will tell you the truth, of course. I always do."
"You promise?" she said, very earnestly.
"Certainly I promise," he said.
"Then—you must forgive my asking, but I must know, and I can't find out in any other way—Lord Ronald, are you—are you in love with me?"
She saw the grey eyes widen in astonishment, and was conscious of a moment of overwhelming embarrassment; and then, slow and emphatic, his answer came, banishing all misgiving.
"But of course I am," he said. "I thought you knew."
She summoned to her aid an indignation she was far from feeling; she had to cloak her confusion somehow. "How could I possibly know?" she said. "You never told me."
"I asked you to marry me," he protested. "I thought you would take the other thing for granted."
She stood up abruptly, turning from him. It was impossible to keep up her indignation. It simply declined to carry her through.
"You—you are a perfect idiot!" she said shakily. And on the words she tried to laugh, but only succeeded in partially smothering a sob.