“Good heavens, man, are you mad?”
“Something very like it sometimes since I’ve seen so much of that girl,” said the giant, slowly. “I can’t tell you the effect she has upon me.”
“Effect! Rubbish! Haven’t you often said your ideal of woman is a gen—”
“Oh, woman of genius be blowed!” cried Southerley, impatiently. “One says those things before one’s hit, just because one must always be talking of women, even if it’s only talking balderdash. But I tell you it’s serious with me now. I must know how she feels, I must, I must.”
“But haven’t I told you—” began Bayre.
“Told me fiddlesticks! You’ve said she’s engaged. Well, somehow I don’t believe she is. She wears no ring. Besides, how should you know? She didn’t tell you in so many words she was engaged, did she?”
“N-n-no,” admitted his friend.
“Has she ever said she cared about anybody?”
“N-n-no.”
“Then you just go and ask her this minute if she can care for me!”