"Well, I'm not!" said I, savagely. "What does all this nonsense mean. Don't be an ass, Fred."
"Perhaps you don't know it, Mr. Smart, but you are in love," said he so convincingly that I was conscious of an abrupt sinking of the heart. Good heavens! Was he right? Was there anything in this silly twaddle? "You are quite mad about her."
"The deuce you say!" I exclaimed, rather blankly.
"Oh, I've seen it coming. For that matter, so has she. It's as plain as the nose—"
I leaped to my feet, startled. "She? You don't—Has she said anything that leads you to believe—Oh, the deuce! What rot!"
"No use getting angry over it," he said consolingly. "Falling in love is the sort of thing a fellow can't help, you know. It happens without his assistance. It is so easy. Now I was once in love with a girl for two years without really knowing it."
"And how did you find it out?" I asked, weakly.
"I didn't find it out until she married another chap. Then I knew I'd been in love with her all the time. But that's neither here nor there. You are heels over head in love with the Countess Tarnowsy and—"
"Shut up, Fred! You're going daffy from reading my books, or absorbing my manuscripts, or—"
"Heaven is my witness, I don't read your books and I merely correct your manuscripts. God knows there is no romance in that! You are in love. Now what are you going to do about it?"