"I knew you weren't listening to me, or I shouldn't have had the courage to say the foolish things I did." "No, I wasn't," admitted he. "Why not?" "For the reason you gave." "That what I said was--just talk?" "Yes." "You don't believe I'll do those things?" "Do you?" "I've GOT to believe it," said she. "If I didn't--" She came to a full stop. "If you didn't, then what?" It was the first time he had ever flattered her with interest enough to ask her a question about herself. "If I didn't believe I was going to succeed--and succeed big--" she began. After a pause, she added, "I'd not dare say it." "Or think it," said he. She colored. "What do you mean?" she asked. He did not reply. "What do you mean, Mr. Keith?" she urged. "You are always asking me questions to which you already know the answer," said he. "You're referring to a week or so ago, when I asked you why you disliked me?" No answer. No sign of having heard. No outward sign of interest in anything, even in the cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. "Wasn't that it?" she insisted. "You are always asking me questions to which you already know the answer," repeated he. "I am annoying you?" No answer. She laughed. "Do you want me to go away and leave you in peace with that--law case--or whatever it is?" "I don't like to be alone." "But anyone would do?--a dog?" No reply. "You mean, a dog would be better because it doesn't ask questions to which it knows the answer." No reply. "Well, I have a pleasant-sounding voice. As I'm saying nothing, it may be soothing--like the sound of the waves. I've learned to take you as you are. I rather like your pose." No reply. No sign that he was even tempted to rise to this bait and protest. "But you don't like mine," she went on. "Yes, it is a pose. But I've got to keep it up, and to pretend to myself that it isn't. And it isn't altogether. I shall be a successful singer." "When?" said he. Actually he was listening! She answered: "In--about two years, I think." No comment. "You don't believe it?" "Do you?" A pause. "Why ask these questions you've already answered yourself?" "I'll tell you why," replied she, her face suddenly flushed with earnestness. "Because I want you to help me. You help everyone else. Why not me?" "You never asked me," said he. "I didn't know I wanted it until just now--as I said it. But YOU must have known, because you are so much more experienced than I--and understand people--what's going on in their minds, deeper than they can see." Her tone became indignant, reproachful. "Yes, you must have known I needed your help. And you ought to have helped me, even if you did dislike me. You've no right to dislike anyone as young as I."