“What are you talking about?” demanded Dunham, in his turn.
Staniford recollected himself. “I was speaking of abstract flirtation. I was firing into the air.”
“In my case, I don't choose to call it flirtation,” returned Dunham. “My purpose, I am bound to say, was thoroughly unselfish and kindly.”
“My dear fellow,” said Staniford, with a bitter smile, “there can be no unselfishness and no kindliness between us and young girls, unless we mean business,—love-making. You may be sure that they feel it so, if they don't understand it so.”
“I don't agree with you. I don't believe it. My own experience is that the sweetest and most generous friendships may exist between us, without a thought of anything else. And as to making love, I must beg you to remember that my love has been made once for all. I never dreamt of showing Miss Blood anything but polite attention.”
“Then what are you troubled about?”
“I am troubled—” Dunham stopped helplessly, and Staniford laughed in a challenging, disagreeable way, so that the former perforce resumed:
“I'm troubled about—about her possible misinterpretation.”
“Oh! Then in this case of sweet and generous friendship the party of the second part may have construed the sentiment quite differently! Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to take the contract off your hands?”
“You put it grossly,” said Dunham.