She had a pause. "How do you know he hasn't come?"
"Because I take for granted he'd have called on me if he had."
"Does he like you very much?" the girl asked.
"I don't know. I like him."
"He's a gentleman—pour cela," she said.
"Oh yes, for that!" Nick went on absently, labouring hard.
"But he's afraid of me—afraid to see me."
"Doesn't he think you good enough?"
"On the contrary—he believes I shall carry him away and he's in a terror of my doing it."
"He ought to like that," said Nick with conscious folly.