“Yes,” she repeated; “he really is rather a flirt, and—”
“Tom!”
She nodded. “Yes; really, it did hurt me a little, only—”
“Tom!”
She faced him. “Yes, Tom. What do you think Tom is—blind and deaf and dumb? Any man worth his salt can flirt.”
Amory stared at her. “Oh, he can, can he?”
She nodded. “He was very good and kind, but I saw that he was changing; and then he met a little fair-haired, blue-eyed—”
Amory interposed. “I told you.”
She gave him a curious smile. “Yes, a silly little blond thing, just that.”
But his satisfaction in his perspicacity was short-lived; he walked up and down the room in his perplexity. “I can't get over it,” he murmured. “I thought it a mad love-match, all done in a few weeks; and to have it turn out like this! You—”