"I am--I want to be your friend, really!"
"You are supposed to be his," she reminded him.
He shook his head.
"I am his secretary. There is no question of friendship between us.
For the rest, I told him that I should speak to you."
"You have no right to discuss me at all," she declared vehemently.
"None whatever," he admitted. "I have to rely entirely upon your
mercy. This is the truth. People are thrown together a good deal on a
voyage like this. You and Mr. Wingrave have seen a good deal of one
another. You are a very impressionable woman; he is a singularly cold,
unimpressionable man. You have found his personality attractive. You
fancy--other things. Wingrave is not the man you think he is. He is
selfish and entirely without affectionate impulses. The world has
treated him badly, and he has no hesitation in saying that he means to
get some part of his own back again. He does not care for you, he does
not care for anyone. If you should be contemplating anything
ridiculous from a mistaken judgment of his character, it is better
that you should know the truth."
The anger had gone. She was pale again, and her lips were trembling.
"Men seldom know one another," she said softly. "You judge from the
surface only."
"Mine is the critical judgment of one who has studied him intimately,"
Aynesworth said. "Yours is the sentimental hope of one fascinated by
what she does not understand.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131