"Devilish glad—I mean delighted to have you tell me anything," I murmured rather weakly; "but—er—I should think your mother—"
"The mater—tell her!" Her hand lifted. "She'd guy the life out of me! Besides, she's in Europe." She paced to the window and back.
I protested indignantly: "I don't see how any mother—"
"Aw, forget it!" she broke in, and I winced again at slang from those sweet lips. "No, sir; I'm going to unload the whole thing on you, or nobody."
And, by Jove, the next thing I knew she had perched on the broad arm of the Morris chair in which I sat, her arm resting lightly above my shoulders.
"Here's what I want to know about," I heard her sigh. "When you're engaged to one person and meet another you like better, how are you going to—well, chuck it with the first, you know—and still do the square thing? There, that's what's hit me, Dicky; and I'm up against it for fair!" Her hand gently patted my shoulder. "I'm telling you, old chap, because I know you'll understand—because I like you better than any man I ever saw—that's right!"
I was just afraid to move! Afraid she'd stop; afraid she'd go on. And all the while I was feeling happier than I ever had in all my life—happier than I ever knew people could be, you know. I never thought her bold—dash it, no—knew it was just her adorable, delicious, Arcadian simplicity, by Jove! That explained it, just as it explained to me all her other unconventionality.
"So now it's up to you," she said, "and I want to know what's the answer."
The answer!
And how could I give her any answer? No, by Jove, I knew jolly well I couldn't take advantage of such circumstances—of her artless confession; knew devilish well it wouldn't do, you know. Might reproach me in years to come; and then—and then, there was Billings!