"And leave the field clear? I see that too. Of course you want to give her to him."
"If you only knew how I've striven to prevent it!"
Her hand touched my sleeve for a moment. "Poor old George—always trying to prevent somebody from doing something! Has it ever occurred to you that that's sometimes the way to bring it about?" Then, imperiously, "Has he told you he's in love with her?"
"If he is in love with her, and has no eyes for any other woman living, and never will have, will you marry me then?"
"Oh, we had all that years ago. Has he told you he's in love with her?"
"Since you must know, he has."
"Now we're getting at it. I thought you'd something up your sleeve. Now just one more question. Do you happen to know whether he's told her that?"
You see what I was in her hands. She cut clean through my web of speculations as scissors go through cloth. I had resolved to tell her this, not to tell her that. The end of it was that I told her precisely what she wished to know.
"I've reason for thinking he hasn't," I said. "For one thing, he made me a promise."
But she flicked his promise aside as she flicked the convolvulus with her nail. She laughed a little.