"I said I was as free in that respect. I'm not going to marry—and I don't suppose you are?"
"God, no!" he ejaculated fervently.
"But that doesn't always imply complete freedom. . . ."
He stood just above her, leaning his elbow against the hideous black marble arch that framed his fireless grate. As she glanced up she saw his face harden, and the colour flew to hers.
"Was that what you came to tell me?" he asked.
"Oh, you don't understand—and I don't see why you don't, since we've knocked about so long among exactly the same kind of people." She stood up impulsively and laid her hand on his arm. "I do wish you'd help me—!"
He remained motionless, letting the hand lie untouched.
"Help you to tell me that poor Ursula was a pretext, but that there is someone who—for one reason or another—really has a right to object to your seeing me too often?"
Susy laughed impatiently. "You talk like the hero of a novel—the kind my governess used to read. In the first place I should never recognize that kind of right, as you call it—never!"
"Then what kind do you?" he asked with a clearing brow.
"Why—the kind I suppose you recognize on the part of your publisher." This evoked a hollow
