“I didn’t say I loved Phil Gallatin,” corrected Nina promptly. “I said I’d decided to marry him.”
“And have you any reason to suppose that he shares your—er—nubile emotions?”
“None whatever. He has always been quite indifferent to me—to all women. I think the arrangement might be advantageous to him. He’s quite poor and I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. He’s not a fool, and I’m—Nellie, I’m not old-looking or ugly, am I? Why shouldn’t he like me, if he doesn’t like any one else?”
“No reason in the world, dear. I’d marry you, if I were a man.”
Mrs. Pennington took to cover uneasily, conscious that here was a situation over which she could have no control. She was not in Phil Gallatin’s confidence or in Jane Loring’s, and the only kind of discouragement she could offer must fail of effectiveness with a girl who all her life had done everything in the world that she wanted to do, and who had apparently decided that what she now wanted was Phil Gallatin. Nina’s plans would have been amusing had they not been rather pathetic, for Nellie Pennington had sought and found below her visitor’s calm exterior, a vein of seriousness, of regret and self-reproach, which was not to be diverted by the usual methods. Did she really care for Phil? Clever as Mrs. Pennington was, she could not answer that. But she knew that it was a part of Nina Jaffray’s methods to do the unexpected thing, so that her sincerity was therefore always open to question. Nellie Pennington took the benefit of that doubt.
“Has it occurred to you, Nina, that he may care for some one else?”
Her visitor turned quickly. “You don’t think so, do you?” she asked sharply.
“How should I know?” Mrs. Pennington evaded.
“I’ve thought of that, Nellie. Who was Phil’s wood-nymph? He’s very secretive about it. I wonder why.”