"Because to tell the truth," I said frankly, "I thought Miss Marcia Van Wyck entirely too self-satisfied."
He opened his eyes wide and stared at me. "Oh!" he said.
And then after the pause:
"You don't like Marcia?"
"No," I replied flatly, "I don't."
He paced the length of the room, while I sat by a lamp and ostentatiously opened the evening paper.
"I hope you realize," he said presently, with a dignity that would have been ridiculous if it hadn't been pathetic, "that Miss Van Wyck is a very good friend of mine."
"Is she?" I asked quietly.
"Yes—I'm very fond of her."
"Are you?" still quietly.