"It isn't that."
The nature of his understanding seemed to stir something in her, and she went on in a rather steadier voice:
"I've been thinking of something you said to me once--that I wasn't the girl you had asked to marry you ... It's taken me a long time, but I've learned that that was the truth. I'm not--"
She was checked, to her surprise, by a soft laugh.
"So that's been it!... I never imagined--no wonder!... Why, Cally! How could you suppose I meant it? Don't you know I was angry that day?--off my head? Would I--"
"But it's true! I'm not that girl at all--I feel differently--I--"
"Well! Let's not waste good time in mare's nests of that sort. Why, dear little girl, would I be here now, if I wasn't satisfied as no other man on earth--"
"But I'm not satisfied, Hugo."
Cally turned now, faced him fully, a faint color coming into her cheek. In the man's handsome eyes she had surprised an unmistakable complacence.
"I'm not satisfied," she said, hurriedly, "to know that we are miles apart, and drifting further every minute. Don't you see there's no sympathy--no understanding--between us? What interests me, appeals to me, what is really my natural self--that only annoys you, makes you think--"