"For obvious reasons; aren't we supposed to be as good as engaged?"
"I don't know about the supposition; but we are not engaged."
"No; and your father says it's my fault. Will you set the day?"
Her smile was sweet and ineffable. "What an enthusiastic wooer you are, Cousin Chester. Couldn't you rake up the embers and fan them into a tiny bit of a blaze? just for form's sake, you know."
"That's nonsense," he answered, placidly. "We've known each other too long for anything of that sort. But you haven't answered my question."
"About the day? That is nonsense, too. You know perfectly well there isn't going to be any day—not for us."
Fleetwell drew a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Don't let us make any mistake about this," he said, soberly. "I'm asking you in good faith to be my wife, you know."
"And I am refusing you in equally good faith. I don't love you at all—not in that way."
"You are quite sure of that?"