Besides, he's in love with you, and he always has been." "What nonsense, Harry," she answered, opening her fan and waving it slowly.

She knew her lover was right--knew more indeed than her lover could ever know: she had used all the arts of which she was mistress to keep Willits from proposing.
"But he IS in love with you," Harry insisted stiffly.

"Won't he be fighting mad, though, when he hears father announce our engagement at supper ?" Then some tone in her voice recalled that night on the sofa when she still held out against his pleading, and with it came the thought that while she could be persuaded she could never be driven.
Instantly his voice changed to its most coaxing tones: "You won't dance with him, will you, Kate darling?
I can't bear to see you in anybody else's arms but my own." Her hand grasped his wrist with a certain meaning in the pressure.
"Now don't be a goose, Harry.

I must be polite to everybody, especially to-night--and you wouldn't have me otherwise." "Yes, but not to him." "But what difference does it make?
You are too sensible not to understand, and I am too happy, anyway, to want to be rude to anybody.
And then you should never be jealous of Langdon Willits." "Well, then, not a round dance, please, Kate." He dare not oppose her further.

"I couldn't stand a round dance.