He
stood beside her, looking down at her with the half mocking, half tender
smile. Presently he sat upon the arm of her chair and took one of her
hands. "Poor, friendless, beautiful lady," he said softly.
She glanced up quickly, her cheeks flaming but her eyes clear and frank.
"Why do you say that?" she asked in the tone of one who knows why.
"Other women will not be her friends because they are jealous of her, and
as for the men--how can a man be really a friend to a woman, a fascinating,
sympathetic woman?"
Marian hid her face against the lapel of his coat. "He told me," she
whispered, "and then he went away."
"He always does tell her. But----"
"But--what?"
"She doesn't always send him away. Poor fellow! Still, he went into it with
his eyes open."
"He was very nice. He told it in a roundabout way. And I wasn't a bit
afraid that he'd--he'd--you know. But I got to thinking about how I'd feel
if he did--did touch me. And it made me--nervous."
There was a long pause, then she went on: "I wonder how you'd feel about
touching another woman?"
"I? Dear me, I wonder! I never thought. You see I'm such a domestic,
unattractive creature----"
"Don't laugh at me, please," she pleaded.
"I'm not laughing. Underneath, I'm thinking--thinking what I would do if I
met you and lost you.
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