He turned away and followed the course of the stream with his eyes as it rushed through the glen. This was very awkward, he thought, but for the life of him he didn't believe in it.
"You have been very kind to me," he said; "but it's no good not telling the truth about a thing of this sort—I couldn't marry Lena. I'm very fond of her, but she isn't the kind of girl that I could fall in love with; she flops about and you never know where you have her, and as for her being desperately in love with me, why, I don't believe it. We should worry each other to death if we were married; besides, I mean to marry Margaret Vincent."
"If the grocer hasn't stolen a march on you."
"Look here," he answered, turning very red, "if you say that sort of thing we shall quarrel."
"I don't care," she answered, defiantly; "if you can't behave like a gentleman, it doesn't matter whether we quarrel or not."
"You know," he said, "I don't believe in this business—I mean in Lena's being in love with me."
"I should have thought you might have seen it yesterday." She stopped for a moment, then almost demanded, "What are you going to do?"
"I am going back to town at once; but it's no good not being straight in a matter of this sort, and first I shall have it out with Lena."
"It will be thoroughly indecent of you."
"Can't help it; I'm going," and he marched towards the house and into the morning-room again.