"Colder!" The chill of the idea penetrated even through the density of Colville's selfish content. A very complex emotion, which took itself for indignation, throbbed from his heart. "Is she cold with you, Imogene?"
"Oh, if you saw nothing——"
"No; and I think you must be mistaken. She never speaks of you without praising you."
"Does she speak of me?" asked the girl, with her honest eyes wide open upon him.
"Why, no," Colville acknowledged. "Come to reflect, it's I who speak of you. But how—how is she cold with you?"
"Oh, I dare say it's a delusion of mine. Perhaps I'm cold with her."
"Then don't be so, my dear! Be sure that she's your friend—true and good. Good night."
He caught the girl in his arms, and kissed her tenderly. She drew away, and stood a moment with her repellent fingers on his breast.
"Is it all for me?" she asked.
"For the whole obliging and amiable world," he answered gaily.