"I believe Jack Waring has discussed me with you?" she began.
"I think he's told me everything that was to be told," answered Loring.
"Including to-night?" It was an idle question, for Jim would have been more Rhadamanthine if Jack had described the last disillusionment. "Well, you know he asked me to marry him; and I refused, because he wasn't a Catholic. He is a Catholic now—in name; he asked me again to-night, and I refused again."
"Why?"
Men preserved a rare sex-loyalty. Loring's tone was Jack's; his face was setting with the same rigidity, and he would shew as little mercy.
"I didn't feel I was in love with him."
"Were you ever in love with him? A good many people thought you were."
Barbara pondered deeply over her answer.
"I could never be in love with any one who wasn't gentle with me.... I—rather admired Jack, because he was clean and honest and had the courage to say things that I'd have hit another man for——"
"But you were afraid of him," Loring murmured. "Go on! You wanted to shew him how wrong he was——"