"Did you call me?"
"No, no."
All at once he came to her tempestuously, catching her arm as he would a naughty child's.
"Drina, I won't be turned away like this. In heaven's name what have I done that you should treat me like this? At least tell me!"
She did not struggle against his hold, but turned away her head without answer.
"Was it my first letter? You didn't like me to write that way—so soon—so soon after breaking the engagement? Was that it? It was, wasn't it?"
It seemed to him, though he could not be sure, that her head made a little affirmative nod.
"But what was wrong?" he cried in dismay. "You wouldn't have me be insincere. You know and I know what you meant to me, you know that if I went on with Doris after—after that night, it was only from a sense of duty, of loyalty. Yes, because you yourself came to me and begged me to. If that's true, why not be open about—"
"Hush," she said hastily. "Some one will hear."
"I don't care if they all hear," he said recklessly. "Drina, what's the use of pretending. You know I've been in love with you, you and only you, from the first day I saw you."