“I know,” she said, nodding her head.
“You know? What do you mean?” I said, startled.
“Don’t be angry, David. I guessed. It was Jenny Barnett, wasn’t it?”
I laughed, to cover my confusion and my amazement,—a not very successful laugh.
“Yes, it was Jenny; and that’s why I say be very sure, just at first.”
“But, David, I am not like you. You have always been so impulsive, so intense.”
“I impulsive?” I cried, forgetting how the conversation had switched. And I was genuinely amazed, for frankly, it had never occurred to me to look at myself as such. Though I am not sure but what she is right, but how she learned to see me so clearly is beyond me.
“Yes, you are! I never know what you’re going to do; whereas I—I am really quite sensible and matter-of-fact. Why haven’t you married, David? You ought to.”
“I thought, young lady, we were here to discuss your affairs,” I said warily.
“Please, David, let me talk to you,” she said, raising her eyes to mine. “I love you very much, more than any one else in the world. And we ought to be very close to each other, real confidants.”