Something in her soft voice arrested his attention. He looked at her. Her cheeks were pinker than usual. That, however, might be due to a warm day and exercise.
“Are you cynical about men?” he asked abruptly.
“Oh, no. But I suppose—I think——”
“Come on! Heart-to-heart, Joyce. No skrimshanking!”
“I don’t know many men. I’ve met Captain Challoner. I’ve read about men like him. He’s a type, isn’t he? He might want a girl, either for herself or her money, but he wouldn’t ask himself if he could make her happy and contented, would he?”
Lionel was too busy with his own affairs to throw pebbles at a pal. He professed ignorance. Tom Challoner was a good sort. Any girl would have an easy time with him.
“Some of us want more than that.”
She stopped, smiling pleasantly. Her destination, a small cottage, was reached. Lionel offered to wait for her.
“I shall be busy for an hour at least.”
He grumbled, unwilling to go.