"You're not tired of me--though
I see I'm boring you hideously; put up with it a little longer, I've
nearly finished--and you'd shed quite a respectable number of tears
if I were to die young. Yes, I am young though as ugly as Satan. I
believe you think I'm some sort of connection, don't you? Is that why
you don't want to marry me?"
He put the question with startling suddenness, and Muriel glanced up
quickly, but was instantly reassured. He was no more formidable at
that moment than a grinning schoolboy. Still she did not feel wholly
at her ease with him. She had a curious suspicion that he was in some
fashion testing her.
"No," she answered, after a moment. "It is nothing of that sort."
"Quite sure there is a reason?" he asked quizzically.
Her white cheeks flushed. "Yes, of course. But--I would rather not
tell you what it is."
"Quite so," said Nick. "I suppose that also is 'only fair'?"
Her colour deepened. He made her feel unaccountably ashamed. "I will
tell you if you wish to know," she said reluctantly. "But I would
rather not."
Nick made an airy gesture. "Not for the world! My intelligence
department is specially fitted for this sort of thing. Besides, I know
exactly what happened. It was something like this." He passed his
hand over his face, then turned to her with a faint, wry smile so
irresistibly reminiscent of Lady Bassett that Muriel gasped with a
sudden hysterical desire to laugh.
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