"Oh, and you are going to rob me of the distinction of showing you off. Very well, Sir." "I wouldn't be a distinction--more of a humiliation." "We'll see when the time comes. You have no idea what a source of--what shall I say? Pleasure--gratification you have been to me." "Do you really mean it?" "Mean it? Why shouldn't I? You have helped me to pick things to pieces; and we can have a great time when you know the people here well enough to gossip about them. It's always interesting to hear what a stranger has to say of one's old acquaintances." "Yes, if he speaks what he conceives to be the truth. The truth is spicy and not infrequently malicious." "You make me laugh. Do you suppose I want to hear anyone speak ill of my friends?" "Why, yes. You might demur, but you would listen." "Yes, I believe I would," she laughed, "and isn't it mean? I've tried so hard to be good, but I can't." "It is hard to be good, and--" I hesitated. "And what?" "Will you pardon an impudence?" "Yes, if it's not _too_ bad." "Hard to be good and beautiful." Her face was turned from me, but I saw a red tint rise and spread over her neck. She spoke without looking at me, and her voice was steady and deep. "I helped you to set a trap and then walked into it, and therefore I've no right to feel offended, but if my treatment of you leads up to such compliments, I must change it." "No!" I cried, abashed; and the negro on his knees at a tulip bed, down the path, looked up at me. "It was simply a jest; there has never been anything in your manner to warrant it. Let me tell you that at times I am a barbarian; I lose respect for polite customs. I have known ladies who liked to be told that they were beautiful--women who were charmed to have their pictures in a magazine among a collection of "types" celebrated for beauty. I--" was she laughing at me? She was. "The fact that you take it so to heart wipes out the impudence," she said, still laughing.