"Not going to——" spluttered Wilkinson. For the first time in months his colour fled. "Didn't he—hasn't he asked you?"
"Yes, and I refused him."
"What?" he bellowed. "Why?"
"I had my own reasons," she replied, never flinching as her father glowered upon her from his height.
"A woman's reason, I'll wager. What's the trouble? Some other chap?"
"No."
"Nobody else, eh? Then, what's up? Don't you like Beekman?"
"Yes."
"Oh, you like him, but don't love him, that is, well enough to marry him. I don't care so much about the love. We'll leave love out of the question—it's too ticklish a subject."
"I like him too well to marry him," she answered earnestly.