"I did not mean that at all," she answered. "I was not thinking of it, but only that you had been so much with Mr. Edmonson, that you must miss him."
"I don't know," answered Bulchester. After a moment's hesitation he added, "I see you look surprised: the intimacy between us seemed to you close?"
"Why, yes, it did," assented Elizabeth, "very close. But I don't see why I should say so, or how it should be any affair of mine."
Bulchester looked uncomfortable. "All the same," he answered, "you are judging me, and thinking me disloyal, and that it is a strange time to forget one's friendship when the friend has gone to peril life for his country."
"Perhaps something like that did come to me," confessed Elizabeth.
"You can't judge," pursued the other eagerly, speaking to Elizabeth, but thinking of the impression that this might be making upon Katie. "There are things I cannot explain, things that have made me draw away from Edmonson. It is not because he has gone to the war and I have found reason to stay at home. There are impressions that come sometimes like dreams, you can't put them into words. But without being able to do that, you are sure certain things are so. No, not sure." He stopped again. It was impossible to explain.
"Don't stop there," cried Katie. "How tantalizing. Either you should not have begun, or you ought to go on. You must," she insisted with a gesture of impatience, while her eyes met his with a smile that always conquered him.
"I've nothing to say,—that is, there is nothing I can say. One doesn't betray one's friends. But Edmonson—" He halted again.
"Yes, but Mr. Edmonson," she repeated, "is a delightful man when one is on a frolic. What else about him?"
"Oh—nothing."