She put me in the little morning room and while waiting there I hoped uneasily that they hadn't been upsetting Megan.
When the door opened and I wheeled around, I was instantly relieved.
Megan was not looking shy or upset at all.
Her head was still like a glossy chestnut, and she wore that air of pride and self-respect that she had acquired yesterday.
She was in her old clothes again but she had managed to make them look different.
It's wonderful what knowledge of her own attractiveness will do for a girl.
Megan, I realized suddenly, had grown up.
I suppose I must really have been rather nervous, otherwise I should not have opened the conversation by saying affectionately:
"Hullo, catfish!"
It was hardly, in the circumstances, a loverlike greeting.
It seemed to suit Megan.
She grinned and said,
"Hullo!"
"Look here," I said.
"You didn't get into a row about yesterday, I hope?"
Megan said with assurance,
"Oh, no," and then blinked, and said vaguely,
"Yes, I believe I did.
I mean, they said a lot of things and seemed to think it had been very odd but then you know what people are and what fusses they make all about nothing."
I was relieved to see that shocked disapproval had slipped off Megan like water off a duck's back.
"I came around this morning," I said, "because I've a suggestion to make.
You see I like you a lot, and I think you like me -"
"Frightfully," said Megan with rather disquieting enthusiasm.
"And we get on awfully well together, so I think it would be a good idea if we got married."
"Oh," said Megan.
She looked surprised.
Just that. Not startled. Not shocked.
Just mildly surprised.
"You mean you really want to marry me?" she asked with the air of one getting a thing perfectly clear.
"More than anything in the world," I said - and I meant it.
"You mean, you're in love with me?"
"I'm in love with you."
Her eyes were steady and grave. She said,
"I think you're the nicest person in the world - but I'm not in love with you."
"I'll make you love me."
"That wouldn't do.
I don't want to be made."
She paused and then said gravely,
"I'm not the sort of wife for you.
I'm better at hating than at loving."
She said it with a queer intensity.
I said,
"Hate doesn't last.
Love does."
"Is that true?"
"It's what I believe."
Again there was a silence.
Then I said,
"So it's 'no,' is it?"
"Yes, it's 'no.'"