"Do you know," she said, "years ago, I had a slight, healthy suspicion that you were on the verge of falling in love with me."
He tried to smile, but the colour died out in his face.
"Yes, I was on the verge," he contrived to answer.
"Why didn't you fall over?"
"I suppose it was because you married Jack Dysart," he said simply.
"Was that all?"
"All?" He thought he perceived the jest, and managed to laugh again.
"Really, I am perfectly serious," repeated Rosalie. "Was that all that prevented you from falling in love with me—because I was married?"
"I think so," he said. "Wasn't it reason enough?"
"I didn't know it was enough for a man. I don't believe I know exactly how men consider such matters.... You've managed to hook that fly into my gown again! And now you've torn the skirt hopelessly! What a devastating sort of creature you are, Delancy! You used to step on my slippers at dancing school, and, oh, Heaven! how I hated you.... Where are you going?" for he had begun to walk away, reeling in his wet line as he moved, his grave, highly coloured face lowered, troubled eyes intent on what he was doing.