"Fate has given you one of her back-handers, I think, and you want the thing you can't have—want it rather badly. And just now—nothing seems quite worth while."
"Go on," she said very low.
He hesitated. Then, as if suddenly making up his mind to hit hard, as a surgeon might decide to use the knife, he spoke incisively:
"The man wasn't worth it."
Nan gave a faint, irrepressible start. Recovering herself quickly, she contrived a short laugh.
"You don't know him—" she began.
"But I know you."
"This is only our second meeting."
"What of that? I know you well enough to be sure—quite sure—that you wouldn't give unasked. You're too proud, too analytical, and—at present—too little passionate."
Nan's face whitened. It was true; she had not given unasked, for although Maryon Rooke had never actually asked her to marry him, his whole attitude had been that of the demanding lover.