They stood looking at each other for a moment, the girl demure but dimpling, the man still in some confusion of spirit. Then, encouraged perhaps by the dimples, perhaps by some aura of fellowship and understanding which exhaled from the girl, Hannon burst out boyishly:
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Darcy, and I believe you’re a—well, a good fellow.”
“I am,” Darcy assured him with absolute conviction.
“Well, after the break I made I’ve got to tell somebody or bust.”
“Tell me,” invited the girl. “Whom did you think I was when you rushed on me?”
“Gloria, of course!”
“Gloria!”
Although untrained in fancy gymnastics, Darcy’s brain whirled around ten times in one direction, clicked, and whirled around ten times on the reverse. She put her hand to her head dizzily, striving to readjust her thoughts.
“Isn’t it very sudden?” she faltered.
“About as sudden as Jacob’s little affair with Rachel,” laughed Harmon. “It’s been a seven-year siege on my part.”