“You state it as offensively as possible.” “I state it just as it is. Now, to take the mildest view of it: Miss Kingman did not love you, or she would not have run away with another man. Is that good logic?” “I always thought she loved me.” “You were mistaken.” “I can’t think I was.” “Confound it, Hungerford, what do you mean?” said Dick, impatiently. “Don’t you see the thing has proved itself? If you thought chalk was cheese, wouldn’t the taste convince you? The girl has gone off with another man, either to be his wife, or----.” “No, Dick!” shouted Eugene, springing to his feet. “Don’t say that, or you will make me your enemy.” “Hungerford, I don’t buy my friends, any more than you buy your wife. I deem it my duty, as your friend, to open your eyes. I don’t wonder that you feel bad, if you loved the girl.” “If I loved her!” gasped Eugene. “Well, I had my doubts whether or not you did. I must say you were the coolest, most unimpassioned lover I ever saw in my life.” “Do you think so?” “I do. Why, man, you hardly looked at her! You were alone with her for half an hour, the other day, and I’ll bet you talked politics with her, or discussed the height of the mountains in the moon.” “You are amusing yourself at my expense, Dick.” “I was never more serious in my life, Hungerford. In my opinion you have done the very thing I was afraid you would do, and warned you not to do.” Dick prided himself on being a prophet. “What was that?” “I was afraid you would permit your fear of buying the lady to make you seem cold, indifferent, reserved, and distant. When you came out of the house the day we went there, I studied her expression very carefully. You had been alone with her for half an hour; I expected to find a little glow upon her face, to find some indication of pleasure in her eye, which would assuredly have been visible, if you had given her reason even to suspect that you loved her. Hungerford, she looked sad, disappointed, hopeless.” “Do you mean to say that you could tell by her looks what her feelings were?” “No; but a lady of her age, and of her sensitive nature, could not conceal the exultation of her first love, any more than she could conceal any other joy that warmed her heart. I was looking for such a manifestation. I could not find it. On the contrary, she looked sad and depressed.” “Poor girl! she had enough, as you saw, that day, to make her sad and depressed. It was just before her drunken father made his appearance.”