"What's the good loving a girl and hiding it from her?" he asked. "She's the one to tell first, you old fool."
"No; you're wrong there … By Jove, I'm in love!" He appeared to be fairly "bowled over by it," as Bobbie Carruthers told Sylvia that evening. "It's a fact. But don't you talk, Bobbie! If you tell a soul I'll murder you."
"Just the same," maintained Carruthers, "you ought to tell her. That's half the fun of it."
"Not yet." Steele shook his head with great positiveness. "She isn't ripe for it yet, old man. She … she's young yet. I've got to sort of educate her, train her up, you know …"
"Who is she? Do I know her?"
Steele, fearful of what might come of too great an interest on Carruthers' part and consequently on Sylvia's, answered cheerfully:
"No, you wouldn't know her. A young Italian widow."
