"Something more?" repeated Vanbrugh, "I do not understand."
"Oh nothing! I thought you did."
"Perhaps I did. But I think you are mistaken."
"Am I?" Dolly asked, turning her face to him again. "I wish—I mean, I do not think I am."
"I am sure you are."
"This is a good deal like a puzzle game, is it not?"
"No, it is much more serious," said Vanbrugh, speaking gravely. "This is certainly not the time to talk of such things, Miss Maylands. John Darche may come at any moment, and as far as possible his father has been prepared for his coming. But that isn't it. Perhaps I had better say it at once. We have always been such good friends, you know, and I think a great deal of your good opinion, so that I do not wish you to mistake my motives. You evidently think that I am devoted—to say the least of it—to Mrs. Darche. After all, what is the use of choosing words and beat about the bush? You think I am in love with her. I should be very sorry to leave you with that impression—very, very sorry. Do you understand?"
Dolly had glanced at him several times while he had been speaking, but when he finished she looked into the fire again.
"You were in love with her once?" she said quietly.
"Perhaps; how do you know that?"