"If you would rather not dine with Mr. Santoris this evening," I said, at last,—"and if you think his presence has a bad effect on you, let us make some excuse not to go. I will willingly stay with you, if you wish me to do so."
She gave me a surprised glance.
"You are very unselfish," she said—"and I wish I were not so fanciful.
It's most kind of you to offer to stay with me and to give up an
evening's pleasure—for I suppose it IS a pleasure? You like Mr.
Santoris?"
The colour rushed to my face in a warm glow.
"Yes," I answered, turning slightly away from her—"I like him very much."
"And he likes YOU better than he likes any of us," she said—"In fact, I believe if it had not been for you, we should never have met him in this strange way—"
"Why, how can you make that out?" I asked, smiling. "I never heard of him till your father spoke of him,—and never saw him till—"
"Till when?"—she demanded, quickly.
"Till the other night," I answered, hesitatingly.
She searched my face with questioning eyes.