Viola's spirits rose to the level they had been at when he met her earlier in the afternoon. Her eyes brightened and her face took on its most animated expression. "They're another outward and visible sign of the rise in mining stock," she continued. "I'm so glad you noticed them without my having to make you do so." "Do you want to know why I did?" "Because they were pretty, of course." "Not at all. I was looking at you as you arranged them, and wondering why a pair of curtains should be so much more interesting than I was." "What made you think they were?" "Because you were devoting yourself to them and coldly ignoring me." "That was because I was a little bit frightened of you. You were so cross just now, before we came in, that I didn't know what to say to you." "I cross? What a calumny! I was in my sweetest humor." She looked at him mischievously. "If you call that your sweetest humor, all I can think is that you're not as clever as you pretend to be." "I'm afraid I'm not. For example, I'm not clever enough to understand you--a little girl like you, scarcely half my age." "Am I really such a sphinx?" "You are to me." "I like that," she said, smiling, and gathering up the edge of the curtain in a frill; "I don't want everybody to see through me. But you're different." "How am I different?" "You're more a friend than other people--more a friend than anybody else I know. Tell me what you don't understand about me, and I'll explain it. I won't leave myself a single secret." Though he was standing close to her, looking down at her, he suddenly dropped his voice to the key that was the lowest she could hear. "If I only dared to ask, and you would only tell the truth." "Dared to ask!" she repeated blankly, alarmed and upset by his singular change of manner. "And you would tell the truth," he added, and heard his own voice sound suddenly husky and shaken. "Tell it to me now!" "I always do," she stammered. "No matter what it is," he continued, as if he had not heard her--"no matter how it may hurt me or injure you." The color ran over her face and as quickly ebbed away, leaving her pallid. It might have been the confession of innocence or the confusion of guilt. She looked nervously from side to side, raised her eyes to his, and dropped them again. "There are always a few things a person can't tell," she almost whispered. He gave an ugly laugh, and put his arm half round her as if to draw her to him, then drew back as quickly, and turning away, walked to the window. Viola did not seem to have noticed the attempted caress. There was a moment of penetrating silence. He wondered if she could hear his heart beat. Then she said: "Why do you say such strange things? I always tell you the truth." To his listening ear her voice sounded affectedly naïve. He answered without moving: "Of course you do. So do all women since the days of Eve." "But you don't seem to believe me." "You mustn't jump at such hasty conclusions."