So when she said that she was tired of gaiety, that she would like to study, he said that he would take up anything she chose with her. And when she spoke vaguely of a life devoted to good works—of the wiser charity, of being morally equipped to aid those who required material aid, he was very serious, but ventured to suggest that she dance her first season through as a sort of flesh-mortifying penance preliminary to her spiritual novitiate.
"Yes," she admitted thoughtfully; "you are right. Nina would feel dreadfully if I did not go on—or if she imagined I cared so little for it all. But one season is enough to waste. Don't you think so?"
"Quite enough," he assured her.
"—And—why should I ever marry?" she demanded, lifting her clear, sweet eyes to his.
"Why indeed?" he repeated with conviction. "I can see no reason."
"I am glad you understand me," she said. "I am not a marrying woman."
"Not at all," he assured her.
"No, I am not; and Nina—the darling—doesn't understand. Why, what do you suppose!—but would it be a breach of confidence to anybody if I told you?"
"I doubt it," he said; "what is it you have to tell me?"
"Only—it's very, very silly—only several men—and one nice enough to know better—Sudbury Gray—"