“I know only what I have been told.”
“But who told you?” I persisted.
“A friend. For certain reasons the strictest secrecy has been imposed upon me. Please do not question me further. You have been my dearest and kindest friend and it is very hard to have to prevaricate with you.”
“Thelma,” I said. “I have all along striven to be your friend, though circumstances have been so much against me. I made a promise to Stanley, and I have endeavored to keep it.”
“And at what a cost!” she exclaimed. “Yes! I thank you awfully, for you have been the best and dearest friend any girl has ever possessed. Yet you have narrowly escaped losing your own life because of your chivalry!” and her face flushed slightly.
For the second time my discretion went to the winds.
“Thelma!” I cried, “don’t talk of chivalry. Can’t you see the real reason? Can’t you realize that I love you? Can’t you love me a little in return.”
Her cheeks grew hot. “I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “It wouldn’t be right. I am married already.”
The girl’s transparent innocence was amazing. Not a shadow of a thought of wrong crossed her mind. She gazed at me as candidly and sweetly as if she had been my sister.
“But Thelma,” I pleaded, “suppose Stanley is really dead; could you care for me a little?”