'A
man might do a thing like that for--for love,' she murmured.
I blushed slightly. 'I scarcely think it's more than a passing
infatuation.'
'I feel convinced it's stronger than that,' she replied tensely.
'I hope not,' I said in an alarmed tone. 'It would be horrid to see
the poor fellow in the throes of a hopeless passion.'
'Perhaps after all it might not be quite hopeless,' rejoined Marion
softly.
I raised my head sharply. 'I don't think you are justified in that
remark,' I said stiffly, 'what you saw between him and me was only a
little harmless fun. As if, indeed, there is any man living who could
make me forget dear old Henry for a minute----'
'You!' exclaimed Marion with a start. 'I wasn't thinking of you,
Netta.'
'Then who----?'
'I--I--was referring to--myself.' She put down her knitting on her
knee and looked at me half defiantly, her cheeks flushed.
'But, my dear Marion, when has he shown you the slightest attention?' I
was impelled to remark. 'You have always professed the profoundest
contempt for him.'
'Not contempt, Netta. I have remarked that he was untidy.'
'You said the other evening that you considered him to be the last man
on earth a woman could like.'
'No doubt, dearest, but that was before I had discovered a woman
kissing him.'
'Perhaps you regret it was not yourself in that enviable position,
darling?'
'No, my love.
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