“Hasn’t she been something like that?”
“Perhaps she has. But Beattie always sinks herself in others. She wouldn’t be happy if she didn’t do that. Of course, your friend Guy Daventry’s in love with Beattie.”
“Deeply.”
“But I’m not at all sure that Beattie—”
She paused abruptly. After a moment she continued:
“You asked me to-day why I married you. I didn’t answer you and I’m not going to answer you now—entirely. But you’re not like other men, most other men.”
“In what way?”
“A way that means very much to me,” she answered, with a delicious purity and directness. “Women feel such things very soon when they know men. I could easily have never married, but I could never, never have married a man who had lived, as I believe most men have lived.”
“I think I always knew that from the first moment I saw you.”
“Did you? I’m glad. I care tremendously for that in you, Dion—more than you will ever know.”