“Love Paul!” said Muriel. “It is too ridiculous. I never loved him. Not a word of love has ever passed between us.”
I was so hurt I could not speak. Either Paul had woefully lied, or Muriel was deceiving me or trying to. I hated to entertain either thought. I was silent.
“What is the matter, Jack?” asked Muriel. “One of the things I have admired in you is that you were not small. I knew you loved me long ago, and I loved you, and particularly admired you because you left me so free with other men. Surely I have not been mistaken? You are not jealous of Paul?”
“If you love me, Muriel, it is enough; I am satisfied; but Paul is my friend, and he has told me things that are evidently not so.”
“Oh, Jack,” exclaimed Muriel, “about me? What has he said? Tell me.”
“That you loved him. That you slept with his picture under your pillow. That you wrote him letters daily, although you saw him so frequently, and that for months you have bullied him and made him toe the line of your wishes.”
Muriel was at first very much inclined to be angry, but changed her mind and decided to be amused.
“Paul must have been telling you his dreams,” she said, and laughed. “There is not one word of truth in these things you tell me. Paul and I have only been chums. I like him and enjoy his music, but love there has never been between us, believe me!”
“I do believe you,” I said, “I am glad to believe you, but can you explain why Paul should lie so tremendously?”
“You do not understand Paul,” said Muriel. “He is just a poetic and shallow thing. I do not believe he ever made love to a girl in his life. He has told me of many of his conquests, which I see now could never have happened. You must allow me the pleasure of telling him how matters are between you and me.”