.

.

It is a dreadful surmise to make about anybody so youthful, so pretty, so lovable--and yet, it is the kindest way to account for her strange treatment of you--" "I can't believe it," he said, staring at vacancy.

"I refuse to." And, thinking of her last frightened and excited letter imploring an interview with him and giving the startling reason: "What a scoundrel that fellow Ruthven is," he said with a shudder.
"Why, what has he--" "Nothing.

I can't discuss it, Nina--" "Please tell me, Phil!" "There is nothing to tell." She said deliberately: "I hope there is not, Phil.