"What's that man to you?" he demanded.
"Nothing."
He caught her roughly by the shoulders.
"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed hotly. "He's the man you love. The very expression of your face gave it away."
"I've told you," she answered unemotionally. "Peter Mallory is nothing to me, never can be anything, except"—her voice quivered a little despite herself—"just a friend."
Maryon's eyes searched her face.
"Then kiss me!" He repeated his earlier demand, imperiously.
She drew back.
"Why should I kiss you?"
The quietly uttered question seemed to set him very far apart from her.
In an instant he knew how much he had forfeited by his absence.