“How about Calmiden, and—others,” he probed with jealous meaning.
Julie started slightly. How had he managed to be so well informed concerning her movements?
“Why do you avoid me?” he demanded. “Do you think all these men are your friends? Wait and find out. Now, I am serious. I care for you truly, as I told you on the boat. I asked you to marry me; and I mean it still—in spite of your evasions.”
“Please don’t!” Julie begged. “You couldn’t possibly have meant it—after those few hours.”
She recalled her refusal—so adroit and impersonal, in which her altruistic aspirations and her inviolate determination not to marry had been calculated to carry conviction. She had wanted to regard the matter as settled, yet here he was more determinedly possessive than ever.
“You did not dream that I had given up?” he demanded.
“I beg of you to do so! I refuse utterly!”
“Don’t say anything you’ll be sorry for later,” he broke in. “Things are all your way now, but wait till they turn—till you find out none of those fellows mean anything, and the bottom falls out of your air-castle. Then you won’t say that.”
Julie stared at him in resentful amazement. “Mr. Purcell,” she exclaimed, “I don’t understand this conversation. You don’t at all love me. You have merely set your will upon me, and are trying to frighten me. Please never reopen this subject.” She rose. “It is, so far as I am concerned, definitely and completely closed.”
“You’ll regret that!” he exclaimed agitatedly.