exity was not strange in itself, but it was
strange and new to her; imbued with the parental views about
shilly-shallying, she was angry with herself and inclined to be ashamed.
The excuse she had made to Mina Zabriska did not acquit her in her own
eyes. Yet she was also interested, excited, and pleasantly awake to the
importance which her indecision gave her.

Judged from the outside, she was not open to blame in her attitude
toward Harry; he was not in love with her, and hardly pretended to be.
She met him fairly on a friendly footing of business; he was the sinner
in that, while what she offered was undoubtedly hers, what he proposed
to give in return was only precariously his.

Nor had Duplay any cause of complaint in being kept waiting; he would be
held exceedingly lucky not to be sent to the right-about instantly. But
with Bob Broadley the matter was different. On the subtle question of
what exactly constitutes "encouragement" (it is the technical term) in
these cases it is not perhaps necessary to enter; but false hopes might,
no doubt, arise from her visits to Mingham, from her habit of riding up
the road by the river about the time when Bob would be likely to be
riding down it, or of sauntering by the Pool on the days when he drove
his gig into Blentmouth on business--all this being beyond and outside
legitimate meetings at Fairholme itself. Unless she meant to marry him
she might indeed raise hopes that were false.

Yes, but it did not seem as though she did. Bob was humble. She had
tyrannized over him even before the Ivers grew so very rich. (They had
begun in a small villa at Blentmouth--Miss Swinkerton lived there now.)
It was natural that she should tyrannize still. He saw that she liked to
meet him; grateful for friendship, he was incredulous of more. His
disposition may plead in excuse for her; whatever she did, she would not
disappoint a confident hope.

But she was always so glad to see him, and when she was with him, he was
no perplexity, he was only her dear old friend. Well, and one thing
besides--a man whom it was rather amusing to try to get a compliment out
of, to try to torment into a manifestation of devotion; it was all
there; Janie liked to lure it to the surface sometimes. But Bob was not
even visibly miserable; he was always equable, even jolly, with so much
to say about his horses and his farm that sentiment did not always
secure its fair share of the interview. Janie, not being sentime