“For long?”
“What a list of questions!” with light sarcasm; “it feels like an examination paper.”
But Paddy would not be put off. She fidgeted restlessly with a letter weight, and then asked again:
“Are you going for long?”
“I haven’t the least idea.”
“And this—er—Miss Gwendoline Grant-Carew,” with a slight curl of her lips, “you are engaged to her, or—going to be?”
“Can’t a man have a chum’s photograph on his table without being engaged to her?”
“I don’t know. I am not a man.”
There was a long pause, then she added: “I don’t know much about men, either, but I believe a good many of them think it very amusing and entertaining to make love to three or four girls at once, and not care a snap of their fingers for any one of them. It may be amusing, but to my thinking, it is the trick of a scoundrel. I’d hate such a man,” and she tossed her head and drew up her slight form, with a defiance that was almost a challenge.
Lawrence paled slightly, but he watched her with his keen eyes in a way that bespoke a sudden and unusual interest.