“It’s about Mr. Germain. Do you remember that I told you—he’d been kind to me?”
His eyes were narrow, but upon her, critically upon her. He smoked slowly, as if he enjoyed every fibre of the weed on fire.
“Yes, I remember.”
“He was so kind—he went so out of his way to be kind that I was puzzled. I could not help fancying——”
“Naturally. Well?”
She plunged. “He has asked me to marry him.”
Her friend took his pipe out of his mouth, looked long at it, and put it back again.
“I saw that he had—yesterday.” He might have seen pride shine in her eyes at that compliment. But, instead of looking for that, he asked, “And is he going to?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, pondering.
“But does he think he is?”