"Oh, yes," she responded brightly, "sometimes. The points of the setting catch in my glove though, and I am afraid of loosening the stone."
"Marian, don't you care for me?"
"Certainly."
"How much?"
"As much as you care for me, I think, don't you?"
He went over and put his arm around her. She shrank a little at his touch, but he pulled her down on the sofa beside him.
"Marian, darling, tell me what the matter is. I know I don't deserve you, and I'll go, if you say I must. Has that fellow Jackson come between us?"
Marian disregarded one of Edith's injunctions. "Perhaps it's Miss Perkins."
Tom said a very emphatic swear word, which does not look well in print, then buried his head in one of the sofa cushions. She was frightened and sank down on her knees beside him, her armor of self-defence vanishing in womanly pity. "Tom, dear Tom! What is it? Tell me!"