He was blankly surprised. "Why, Mary! What did you come for then?"
"Not for that!" she cried, with eyes full of anger and pain. "You asked me to be friends with you. All right. Nothing else!"
"Friends shake hands, don't they?" muttered Jack sulkily. "One would think I had the leprosy!"
"You know what I mean," said Mary more quietly.
Jack scowled at the fire. "I don't see how a man and a woman—if they're young—like you and I, can be just friends."
"They can," said Mary eagerly. "I'll show you."
Jack looked at her, eager, wistful, self-forgetful as she was, and a great irresponsible longing surged up in him. Passion darkened his eyes; his breast began to heave. "I couldn't," he said hoarsely, "not with you, Mary!"
She avoided him warily. "Then I must go back," she said sadly.
Jack forgot that he had intended to send her. "No! Not now," he said sharply.
She looked at him with the extraordinary look she had for him, proud, pitying, and relentless all at once. "Listen," she commanded quietly. "Somebody has got to speak plainly. I will do it. I like you very much"—her voice faltered here—"I—I wish to be friends with you—very much. But if you are so weak and dishonourable as to make love to me when you are bound to another woman, I shall despise you, and I shall have to go!"