“Well,” I said, “you wouldn't marry me.”
She shook her head at me, and smiled....
“No,” she corrected me, “you like me better as Hams' wife than you would have as your own.”
I merely laughed at this remark.... It would indeed have been difficult to analyze the new relationship that had sprung up between us, to say what elements composed it. The roots of it went back to the beginning of our lives; and there was much of sentiment in it, no doubt. She understood me as no one else in the world understood me, and she was fond of me in spite of it.
Hence, when I became infatuated with Maude Hutchins, after that Sunday when she so unexpectedly had refused me, I might have known that Nancy's suspicions would be aroused. She startled me by accusing me, out of a clear sky, of being in love. I denied it a little too emphatically.
“Why shouldn't you tell me, Hugh, if it's so?” she asked. “I didn't hesitate to tell you.”
It was just before her departure for the East to spend the summer. We were on the balcony, shaded by the big maple that grew at the end of the garden.
“But there's nothing to tell,” I insisted.
She lay back in her chair, regarding me.
“Did you think that I'd be jealous?”