"You will never marry Bullard," said he, for the tenth time.
"He has my promise. He might yet find another way of injuring father," she answered; "and you too," she added to herself.
Alan was handicapped: he could not think to shock her with the ugly truth about the man, unless that were necessary in order to save her from him at the last moment. He and Teddy had agreed that for the present, at least, no one—not even Caw—should be told.
"Doris, don't you really care for me?" he asked presently.
"Alan!—after all you have done!—"
"That's not the point, dear."
Quickly she turned the questioning on him. "Alan, are you quite sure you want to marry me?"
"What did I come home for? What am I here for now?"
And so forth. The phrase is not to be taken flippantly, but when two young people talk with the primary object of concealing their respective thoughts, the conversation is apt to partake of futility. In this case, at all events, it led to nothing satisfactory.
"It's too absurd, Doris," he cried at last. "It means practically a year—"