Part 11 (1/2)

”It's a nasty habit--smoking,” said I.

”Do you think so?” said she, with the slightest lift to her tone and her eyebrows.

”Especially for a woman,” I went on, because I could think of nothing else to say, and would not, at any cost, let this conversation, so hard to begin, die out.

”You are one of those men who have one code for themselves and another for women,” she replied.

”I'm a man,” said I. ”All men have the two codes.”

”Not all,” said she after a pause.

”All men of decent ideas,” said I with emphasis.

”Really?” said she, in a tone that irritated me by suggesting that what I said was both absurd and unimportant.

”It is the first time I've ever seen a respectable woman smoke,” I went on, powerless to change the subject, though conscious I was getting tedious.

”I've read of such things, but I didn't believe.”

”That is interesting,” said she, her tone suggesting the reverse.

”I've offended you by saying frankly what I think,” said I. ”Of course, it's none of my business.”

”Oh, no,” replied she carelessly. ”I'm not in the least offended.

Prejudices always interest me.”

I saw Ellersly and his wife sitting in the drawing-room, pretending to talk to each other. I understood that they were leaving me alone with her deliberately, and I began to suspect she was in the plot. I smiled, and my courage and self-possession returned as summarily as they had fled.

”I'm glad of this chance to get better acquainted with you,” said I. ”I've wanted it ever since I first saw you.”

As I put this to her directly, she dropped her eyes and murmured something she probably wished me to think vaguely pleasant.

”You are the first woman I ever knew,” I went on, ”with whom it was hard for me to get on any sort of terms. I suppose it's my fault. I don't know this game yet. But I'll learn it, if you'll be a little patient; and when I do, I think I'll be able to keep up my end.”

She looked at me--just looked. I couldn't begin to guess what was going on in that gracefully-poised head of hers.

”Will you try to be friends with me?” said I with directness.

She continued to look at me in that same steady, puzzling way.

”Will you?” I repeated.

”I have no choice,” said she slowly.

I flushed. ”What does that mean?” I demanded.

She threw a hurried and, it seemed to me, frightened glance toward the drawing-room. ”I didn't intend to offend you,” she said in a low voice.

”You have been such a good friend to papa--I've no right to feel anything but friends.h.i.+p for you.”