“I am prepared to render you any service, Mr Statham, that is within my power, and my conscience permits me,” she said in a firm voice.
“Ah, now, that’s better. We’re beginning to be friends. When you know me, you will not accuse me of ungentlemanly conduct—especially towards a woman. But,” he added with a laugh, “I’m a woman hater. I daresay you’ve heard that about me—eh?”
She smiled also.
“Well—yes. I’ve heard that you are not exactly a ladies’ man. But surely you are not alone in the world in that!”
“If all men were like me, Miss Rolfe,” he said, “there wouldn’t be much work for the parsons in the matter of marrying.”
“You’ve been unfortunate, perhaps, in your female acquaintances,” she ventured to suggest. His manner towards her had altered, therefore she was again perfectly at her ease.
“Yes,” he sighed. “You have guessed correctly—unfortunate.”
And then a dead silence fell, and Marion, watching his face, saw that he was reflecting deeply.
Of a sudden, he looked straight into her face again, and said:
“You have a lover, Miss Rolfe—and you are happy. Is not that so?”