“Or in me,” said Phyllis sadly.
Felix was silent.
“Can any one—any one of Clive’s kind—believe in me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, avoiding her eyes.
“Are you sure?” she demanded, leaning across the table.
“Quite sure,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze.
She looked down. “There’s only one other man—of Clive’s kind—that I can think of,” she said. “And he’s—out of my reach.”
“Then you must look around for some others,” Felix said, smiling.
“Are there others?” she asked incredulously.
“Of course. It’s only youth and ignorance that makes you imagine they are scarce. You don’t find them by the dozens in little country towns, of course; but you are in Chicago, now. They are a type familiar in all great cities. How long have you been here? A few months! And because you’ve only found two, so far—”