"Good night." (I am simply submissive.)
"Why not my name? Are you hurt with me?"
Rhoda choked. The indirectness of speech had been a shelter to her, permitting her to hint at more than she dared clothe in words.
Again the delicious dusky rose glowed beneath his eyes.
But he had put his hand out to her, and she had not taken it.
"What have I done to offend you? I really don't know, Rhoda."
"Nothing." The flower had closed.
He determined to believe that she was gladdened at heart by the prospect of a fine marriage, and now began to discourse of Anthony's delinquency, saying,—
"It was not money taken for money's sake: any one can see that. It was half clear to me, when you told me about it, that the money was not his to give, but I've got the habit of trusting you to be always correct."
"And I never am," said Rhoda, vexed at him and at herself.