“He doesn't seem to care much for your company,” said Nancy.
“Oh, they have dinner at half past two,” I explained.
“Aren't you afraid of missing yours, Hugh?” she asked wickedly.
“I've got time. I'd—I'd rather be with you.” After making which audacious remark I was seized by a spasm of apprehension. But nothing happened. Nancy remained demure. She didn't remind me that I had reflected upon Tom.
“That's nice of you, Hugh.”
“Oh, I'm not saying it because it's nice,” I faltered. “I'd rather be with you than—with anybody.”
This was indeed the acme of daring. I couldn't believe I had actually said it. But again I received no rebuke; instead came a remark that set me palpitating, that I treasured for many weeks to come.
“I got a very nice valentine,” she informed me.
“What was it like?” I asked thickly.
“Oh, beautiful! All pink lace and—and Cupids, and the picture of a young man and a young woman in a garden.”