"I see, you dangled about her for two years. In fact, you almost compromised her. Then you were astonished at the poor woman running away. Year after year you played fast and loose with her——"
"I don't call two years year after year," he interrupted meekly.
"I do," I said severely. "Dimbie was only six weeks."
He laughed.
"We are not all made of the same stuff as Dimbie." He spoke so humbly, so unlike his usual decided self, that I began to feel sorry for him.
"And do you think this woman will ever come back?"
"I wish to God she would," he said, with an intensity that startled me.
"Why, I do believe you still care for her," I said.
"Of course I do," he returned with asperity. "I thought I mentioned that."
"No, you didn't. You simply said you had driven a woman to India. Poor thing, my heart bleeds for her. I expect her tears have made a sort of railway cutting down her cheeks, and she will be prematurely aged."