"My own."
"I'm afraid there's a hitch in that argument." said Oak, with a grave smile.
She did not reply at once, and then saying, "Good evening Mr. Oak." went away.
She had spoken frankly, and neither asked nor expected any reply from Gabriel more satisfactory than that she had obtained. Yet in the centremost parts of her complicated heart there existed at this minute a little pang of disappointment, for a reason she would not allow herself to recognize. Oak had not once wished her free that he might marry her himself -- had not once said, "I could wait for you as well as he."
That was the insect sting. Not that she would have listened to any such hypothesis. O no -- for wasn't she saying all the time that such thoughts of the future were improper, and wasn't Gabriel far too poor a man to speak sentiment to her? Yet he might have just hinted about that old love of his, and asked, in a playful off-hand way, if he might speak of it. It would have seemed pretty and sweet, if no more; and then she would have shown how kind and inoffensive a woman's "No" can sometimes be. But to give such cool advice -- the very advice she had asked for -- it ruffled our heroine all the afternoon.