His youthful face fell.
"By gad," he said, "do you think I ought to marry her? How on earth can I when I'm—I'm dead in love with—somebody myself?"
"You—in love?" she said faintly.
He gazed across the brook at the darkening foliage.
"Oh, yes," he said with a pleasant sort of hopelessness, "but I fancy she cares for another man."
"W-why do you think so?"
"He comes to see her."
"Is that a reason?"
"She won't talk about him."
"When a woman won't talk about a man is it always because she cares for him in that way?"