"No. You are."
"Oh, very well. I can take the car, then. Good-bye, Mr. Scott. It was really an awfully interesting history. I'd like to hear more of it some day."
"That's a precocious child, Stancia," said Cary Scott, giving to the special name which he had devised for Constance a caressing quality.
"She's a terrible brat," replied the other.
"She is your sister and therefore has for me a shadow of your delight about her."
"How foreign you sound when you say those things! I love it in you."
"Do you? But you use the word 'love' so lightly."
"I don't think of it lightly. No," she whispered, reading the swift fire in his eyes and holding him back with a light hand upon his shoulder. "Not again. Not now. That other time—it frightened me."
"Don't be afraid of me," he murmured. "I can wait."