"I think he is worrying a great deal."
"Only for the moment," she broke in. "But soon—in a week or two—he will be quite himself again. He has a great many things to do. He has tennis and—and golf."
She checked herself abruptly. ("Damn golf!" Monte had said.)
"There's too much of a man in him now to be satisfied with such things," said Peter. "It's a pity—it's a pity there are not two of you, Marjory."
"Of me?"
"He thinks a great deal of you. If he had met you before he met this other—"
"What are you saying, Peter?"
"That you're the sort of woman who could have called out in him an honest love."
There, beside Peter who could not see, Marjory bent low and buried her face in her hands.
"You 're the sort of woman," he went on, "who could have roused the man in him that has been waiting all this time for some one like you."