Julian stared across impatiently.
“Now don’t be silly, Holly! Who’s been talking about me? Has that fellow Winthrop been putting fool notions into your head?”
“No, Julian.”
“Then what—— Oh, well, I dare say I’ll be able to stand it,” he said, petulantly.
“Don’t be angry, Julian, please,” begged Holly. “I want you to understand it, dear.”
Holly indulged in endearments very seldom, and Julian melted.
“But, hang it, Holly, you talk as though you didn’t care for me any more!” he exclaimed.
“No, I’m not talking so at all,” she answered, gently. “I do care for you—a heap. I always have and always will. But I—I don’t love you as—as a girl loves the man who is to be her husband, Julian. I tried to explain that in my letter. You see, we’ve always been such good friends that it seemed sort of natural that we should be sweethearts, and then I reckon we just fell into thinking about getting married. I don’t believe you ever asked me to marry you, Julian; I—I just took it for granted, I reckon!”
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed.
“I don’t reckon you ever did,” she persisted, with a little smile for his polite disclaimer. “But I’ve always thought of marrying you, and it seemed all right until—until lately. I don’t reckon I ever thought much about what it meant. We’ve always been fond of each other and so it—it seemed all right, didn’t it?”