"You love Ruth!"
"More than I can tell you."
"Have you told HER?" Mrs. Denham demanded.
"Not in so many words."
Mrs. Denham slowly sank into the chair and for several seconds appeared completely oblivious of the young man's presence; then, turning sharply on Lynde, and half rising, she asked with a kind of fierceness, "Does Ruth know it?"
"A woman always knows when she is loved, I fancy. Miss Denham probably knew it before I did."
Mrs. Denham made an impatient gesture and subsided into the chair again. She remained silent a while, staring at the pattern of the carpet at her feet.
"Mr. Lynde," she said at length, "I was not prepared for this. The possibility that you might grow interested in my niece naturally occurred to me at first. I was pleased when I became convinced that the acquaintance between you had resolved itself into merely a friendly liking. I was thrown off my guard by your seemingly frank manner. I trusted you. You have been alone with my niece but twice—once for only ten minutes. I will do you the justice to say that you have made the most of those two occasions."
"I made very little of those two occasions," said Lynde reflectively.
"I think you have been—treacherous!"