“Well then,” said Ralph, “I won’t say it vexes me to see you single. It delights me rather.”
“You’re not serious yet. You never will be.”
“Shall you not believe me to be so on the day I tell you I desire to give up the practice of going round alone?”
Miss Stackpole looked at him for a moment in a manner which seemed to announce a reply that might technically be called encouraging. But to his great surprise this expression suddenly resolved itself into an appearance of alarm and even of resentment. “No, not even then,” she answered dryly. After which she walked away.
“I’ve not conceived a passion for your friend,” Ralph said that evening to Isabel, “though we talked some time this morning about it.”
“And you said something she didn’t like,” the girl replied.
Ralph stared. “Has she complained of me?”
“She told me she thinks there’s something very low in the tone of Europeans towards women.”
“Does she call me a European?”
“One of the worst. She told me you had said to her something that an American never would have said. But she didn’t repeat it.”