He chuckled amiably at the implication of her retort, and she laughed a little, too, in a reluctant way. “It occurs to me,” he ventured, pausing over his words, “that men seem to have played no part whatever in the story of your life.” “No, absolutely none,” she answered, with prompt decision. “I have never before been beholden to a man for so much as a biscuit or a shoe-button. I don’t know that you will believe me when I tell you, but I’ve never even been alone in a room with a man before in my life.” “Of course, I believe what you say. It is remarkably interesting, though. Come! First impressions are the very salt of life. I should dearly like to know what you think of the novel experience, as far as you’ve gone.” She seemed to take him seriously. Placing her elbows on the table, and poising her chin between thumbs and forefingers, she bestowed a frank scrutiny upon his face, as intent and dispassionate as the gaze which a professor of palmistry fastens upon the lines of the client’s hand. “First of all,” she said, deliberately, “I am not so afraid of you as I was.” “Delightful!” he cried. “Then I did inspire terror at the outset. It has been the dream of my life to do that--if only just once. I feared I should never succeed. My dear lady, you have rescued me from my own contempt. My career is not a blank failure after all. We must have coffee and a liqueur after that!” He pressed the bell at his side. She frowned a little at his merry exuberance. “I am not joking,” she complained. “You asked me to say just what I felt.” He nodded his contrition as the waiter left the room. “Yes, do,” he urged. “I will keep as still as a mouse.” “I am not as afraid of you as I was,” she repeated, dogmatically. “But I think, even if I knew you ever so well, I should always be just the least weeny bit afraid. I can see that you are very kind--my Heavens! nobody else has ever been a hundredth part as kind to me as you are--but all the same--yes, there is a _but_ if I can explain it to you--I get a feeling that you are being kind because it affords you yourself pleasure, rather than because it helps me. No--that is not quite what I mean either. It seems to me that a man will be much kinder than any woman knows how to be, so long as he feels that way; but when he doesn’t feel that way any more--well, then he’ll chuck the whole thing, and never give it another thought.” “That is very intelligent,” said Mosscrop. He had the appearance of turning it over in his mind, and liking it the more upon consideration. “Yes, that is soundly reasoned. I can well believe your mother was a Scots lass.” Vestalia flushed, no doubt with pride.