"No, no," he said, rising and walking to the window. "She—she married Wray—because—because she loved him, that's all. I wasn't the man."
Gretchen watched him wistfully, still standing beside the chair he had vacated, full of the first deep sympathy she had ever known. Slowly she walked over and put her hand timidly on his shoulder.
"You'll forgive me, won't you, Cort? I wouldn't have spoken if I had known how deeply you felt." She turned aside with a bitter little laugh. "Isn't it queer that life should be so full of complications? Everybody expects you and me to marry each other—at least, everybody but ourselves, and we won't because—why is it that we won't? Chiefly because everybody expects us to—and because it's so easy. I'm sure if there was any reason why we shouldn't marry, I'd love you quite madly. Instead of which, you're in love with a married woman, and I—I'm interested in a youth with sad romantic eyes and an impaired breathing apparatus."
"Gretchen, don't be silly," he said, smiling in spite of himself.
"I'm really serious—you'll see." She stopped and clutched Bent's arm. "Tell me, Cort. He's not married already, is he?"
"You silly child. Not that I know of. Berkely is a conscientious sort of a bird—he wouldn't have let you make love to him——"
"I didn't," with dignity, "we talked about the weather mostly."
"That must have been romantic."
"Cort, I'll not speak to you again." She rushed past him to the window, her head erect. Outside was the whirr of an arriving motor. "How tiresome. Here come the Billy Havilands," she said, "and they'll want to be playing 'Auction' at once. They always do. As if there was nothing but 'Bridge' in the world!" She sniffed. "I wish we were going to be fewer in number. Just you and I and——"
"And Larry?"