“How is it you see it, my dear fellow?” asked Dunham.
“I don't know whether I've a right to be explicit with her, here. It seems like taking an advantage. In a few days she will be with her friends—”
“You must wait,” said Dunham, decisively. “You can't speak to her before she is in their care; it wouldn't be the thing. You're quite right about that.”
“No, it wouldn't be the thing,” groaned Staniford. “But how is it all to go on till then?” he demanded desperately.
“Why, just as it has before,” answered Dunham, with easy confidence.
“But is that fair to her?”
“Why not? You mean to say to her at the right time all that a man can. Till that time comes I haven't the least doubt she understands you.”
“Do you think so?” asked Staniford, simply. He had suddenly grown very subject and meek to Dunham.
“Yes,” said the other, with the superiority of a betrothed lover; “women are very quick about those things.”
“I suppose you're right,” sighed Staniford, with nothing of his wonted arrogant pretension in regard to women's moods and minds, “I suppose you're right. And you would go on just as before?”