"I haven't touched a drop of wine since that dinner at Chevy Chase,"
triumphantly. "And if you don't approve, I'll not take another drink as
long as I live."

"I certainly think it would be better for you to stick to that
resolution." Kathleen moved toward the hall door. "I really do not see
any object in prolonging this discussion."

"But I do," following her. "I have perhaps startled you by my abrupt
manner. I do love you, Kathleen"--his voice shook--"love you better than
anybody. I know that I can make you care for me. I have money ..."

"That makes no difference."

"With you, perhaps not," but Spencer looked dubious. "I swear never to
touch wine again. I will gratify your every wish"--Kathleen shook her
head, and he added heatedly, "What is there about me you don't like?"

"I--I cannot tell--" Kathleen edged toward the door. "It's a case of
'Dr. Fell.'"

"Fell?" Spencer turned red, his self-esteem pricked at last. "Is that
another name for Captain Miller?" with insolent significance.

Kathleen stepped back as if struck. "I think it time to end this
conversation," she said, but her remark received no attention.

"I see it all now," muttered Spencer. "Captain Miller has won your
affection."