Bartlett.—"And now she's a saint—for sweetness and patience! You think she's had nothing to suffer before from me? You know me better! Well, I am going away."
Cummings.—"Perhaps it will be the best. You can go back with me to-morrow."
Bartlett.—"To-morrow? Go back with you to-morrow? What are you talking about, man?" Cummings smiles. "I can't go to-morrow. I can't leave her hating me."
Cummings.—"I knew you never meant to go. Well, what will you do?"
Bartlett.—"Don't be so cold-blooded! What would you do?"
Cummings.—"I would have it out somehow."
Bartlett.—"Oh, you talk! How?"
Cummings.—"I am not in love with Miss Wyatt."
Bartlett.—"Oh, don't try to play the cynic with me! It doesn't become you. I know I've used you badly at times, Cummings. I behaved abominably in leaving you to take the brunt of meeting General Wyatt that first day; I said so then, and I shall always say it. But I thought you had forgiven that."