"She is a jolly little girl," Keith answers, carelessly. "Yes, I suppose we are friends in a way. We are always quarrelling, and yet always making it up."
"Why don't you—marry—her?" asks Lauraine.
He stares at her as if uncertain of what he has heard. "Marry Nan! Good Lord! I never dreamt of such a thing!"
"Other people have," continues Lauraine; "even the girl herself, I fancy."
He laughs a little bitterly. "What fad have you got into your head? Nan looks upon me as a sort of elder brother. There has never been anything of 'that sort' between us. As for marrying, well, you ought to know I am not likely to do that."
"I think you ought to marry," says Lauraine, very quietly. "You see you have wealth and position, and yet you lead such a 'homeless' kind of life. That is the only word that expresses it. And some day surely you will think of settling down; you cannot be always like this."
"You counsel me to marry," he says, with bitterness. "Have you found the experience so pleasant a one?"
The crimson colour rushes all over the proud fair face. "That has nothing to do with it," she says, coldly.
"Has it not? Well, if I choose to be faithful to a memory, that is my look out. I am not one to forget easily, as I have told you before."
"And you don't care for Miss Jefferson?" asks Lauraine, unwisely.