“Well, he’s like a gentleman, if you are really interested in curiosities,” she said.
He laughed. “By Jove, you’ve got a ready 41 wit, my dear.” He looked at her reflectively, speculatively. “It’s rather a facer to have you turn out to be a married woman.”
“Don’t you like married women?”
“Some of ’em,” he answered, coolly. “But I don’t like to think of you as married.”
“Pooh!” she said, and there was a world of meaning in the way she said it.
“Don’t you know that it means a great deal to me?” he demanded, leaning closer and speaking in a lowered voice, tense and eager.
“Pooh!” she repeated.
He flushed again. “I cannot bear the thought of you belonging––”
She interrupted him quickly. “I wouldn’t say it, if I were you.”
“But I must say it. I’m in love with you, Nellie, and you know it. Every drop of blood in my veins is crying out for you, and has been––”