Enoch laid down his fork. "Do you think I'm a woman hater, Miss
Allen?" looking steadily into Diana's eyes.
"I didn't mean to be so personal. Just like a woman!" sighed Diana.
"But do you think I'm a woman hater?" insisted Enoch.
Diana looked up earnestly. "Please, Mr. Huntingdon, if our friendship is to ripen, you must not force it."
Enoch's face grew suddenly white. There swept over him with bitter realism a conception of the falseness of the position into which he was permitting himself to drift. He answered his own question with an attempted lightness of tone.
"I can never marry, but I don't hate women."
Diana's chin lifted and Enoch leaned forward quickly. All the aplomb won through years of suffering and experience deserted him. For the moment he was again the boy in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
"Oh, I am stupid, but let me explain. I want you to—"
"Please don't!" said Diana coldly. "I need no warning, Mr. Huntingdon."
"Oh, my dear Miss Allen, you must not be offended! What can I say?"