"I don't quite see," he presently returned, "why she should wish to receive you for it."
"She receives me for myself—that is for her self. She thinks no end of me. That I should have to drum it into you!"
Yet still he didn't take it. "Then I confess she's beyond me."
Well, Kate could but leave it as she saw it. "She regards me as already—in these few weeks—her dearest friend. It's quite separate. We're in, she and I, ever so deep." And it was to confirm this that, as if it had flashed upon her that he was somewhere at sea, she threw out at last her own real light. "She doesn't of course know I care for you. She thinks I care so little that it's not worth speaking of." That he had been somewhere at sea these remarks made quickly clear, and Kate hailed the effect with surprise. "Have you been supposing that she does know—?"
"About our situation? Certainly, if you're such friends as you show me—and if you haven't otherwise represented it to her." She uttered at this such a sound of impatience that he stood artlessly vague. "You have denied it to her?"
She threw up her arms at his being so backward. "'Denied it'? My dear man, we've never spoken of you."
"Never, never?"
"Strange as it may appear to your glory—never."
He couldn't piece it together. "But won't Mrs. Lowder have spoken?"
"Very probably. But of you. Not of me."