"You don't understand, and you won't give me a chance—"
"I'm waiting—all ears—but not the way you mean."
"It wasn't as if she'd left me any excuse to hope ... but she told me flat she didn't care for me."
"That's bad, Peter. Forgive my ill-timed levity: I didn't mean it meanly, boy," P. Sybarite protested.
"It's worse than you think," Peter complained. "I can stand her not caring for me. Why should she?"
"Why, indeed?"
"It's because she's gone and promised to marry Bayard Shaynon."
P. Sybarite looked dazed.
"She? Bayard Shaynon? Who's the girl?"
"Marian Blessington. Why do you ask? Do you know her?"