“You’ve never cared much for girls and I’ve never thought much about men—sentimentally I mean—but we always understood each other and—well—we’re pretty good friends, aren’t we?”
“I’d be very sorry if I thought anything else,” he said politely.
She paused and examined his profile steadily.
“You know, Phil, I’m interested in you. I think I’ve always been interested—but I never told you so because—because it seemed unnecessary. I thought if you ever needed my friendship you’d come and ask me for it.”
“I would—I mean, I do,” he stammered.
“Something has been bothering me,” she went on slowly. “The other morning at Nellie Pennington’s, Jane Loring told us the truth about the Dryad story.”
“Yes.”
“And, of course, even though friendship doesn’t give me the privilege of your confidence unless you offer it voluntarily, I thought you might be willing to tell me something——”
“What, Nina?”
“You’re not in love with—you’re not going to marry Jane Loring, are you?”