“Why, I mean—I mean—Oh, I'm sure I had better not say it. You won't like it, and will think I had better mind my own affairs—which I should do, of course.”
“Go on; say it.”
She looked at him again, evidently deliberating whether or not to speak her thought. Then she said:
“Well, I will say it. Not that it is really my business, but because in a way it is begging your pardon, and I ought to do that. You see, I had begun to believe that you were—that you were—well, that you were not very—very active, you know.”
“Active? Say, look here, Helen! What—”
“Oh, I don't wonder you don't understand. I mean that you were rather—rather fond of not doing much—of—of—”
“Eh? Not doing much? That I was lazy, do you mean?”
“Why, not exactly lazy, perhaps, but—but—Oh, how CAN I say just what I mean! I mean that you were always saying that you didn't like the work in your grandfather's office.”
“Which I don't.”
“And that some day you were going to do something else.”