"If you're going to be hateful I don't know what to say."
"Neither do I," said Greg gloomily. "I guess there is nothing to be said."
Once more it was she who could not support the silence. "Who told you I was engaged?" she demanded.
"He did. The young man. I don't know his name."
"Where did you ever meet him?"
"In the Meriden. After he left you day before yesterday. I followed him into the bar and managed to get into conversation with him. I was trying then to find some way of getting into communication with you. He volunteered the information about being engaged to you. It came out of the clear sky to me."
She said, not with entire candor perhaps: "I am to understand, then, that you wish to have nothing more to do with me or my affairs."
"Nothing of the kind," he said, "I shall go through with it to the end."
"Why are you quarreling with me then?"—this with a plaintive note.
"I'm quarreling with you because yesterday in your letters you called me your friend; you led me to believe that I was something more to you than a useful person, yet you withheld this essential fact."