"Thank you," said I, for lack of anything else to say, and with not the remotest intention of irritating him. But he flushed scarlet, and frowned. "You always and deliberately misconstrue everything I say," said he bitterly. "I know I'm unfortunate in trying to express myself to you, but why do you never attribute to me anything but the worst intentions?" "And why should you assume that every careless reply I make is a carefully thought out attack on you?" I retorted. "Don't you think your vanity makes you morbid?" "You know perfectly well that it isn't vanity that makes me think you especially dislike me," said he. "But I don't," I answered. "I confess I did at first, but not since I've come to know you better." "Why did you dislike me at first?" he asked. "You began on me with almost the first moment of our acquaintance." "That's true--I did," I admitted. "I had a reason for it--didn't Nadeshda tell you what it was?" He looked frightened. "Be frank, if you want me to be frank," said I. "I never for an instant believed what she said," he replied abjectly. Then after a warning look from me, he added--"_Really_ believed it, I mean." "And what was it that you didn't really believe?" I demanded. He looked at me boldly. "Nadeshda and one or two others told me that you and your friends had arranged it for me to marry you. But, of course, I knew it wasn't so." "But it was so," I replied. "You were one of the considerations that determined my friends in trying to get me my place." "Well--and why didn't you take me when I finally fell into the trap?" I let him see I was laughing at him. He scowled--his cowlick did look so funny that I longed to pull it. "Simply couldn't stand me--not even for the sake of what I brought," he said. And then he gave me a straight, searching look. "I wonder why I don't hate you," he went on. "I wonder why I am such an ass as to care for you. Yes--even if I knew you didn't care for me, still I'd want you. Can a man make a more degrading confession than that?" "But why?" said I, very careful not to let him see how eagerly I longed to hear him say _the_ words again. "Why should you want--me?" He gave a very unpleasant laugh. "If you think I'm going to sit here and exhibit my feelings for your amusement you're going to be disappointed. It's none of your business _why_. Certainly not because I find anything sweet or amiable or even kind in you." "That's rude," said I. "It was intended to be," said he. "Please--let's not quarrel now," said I coldly. "It gives me the headache to quarrel during dinner." And he answered between his set teeth, "To quarrel with you--anywhere--gives me--the heartache, Gus." I had no answer for that, nor should I have had the voice to utter it if I had had it. And then Mr. Bartlett began prosing to me about the Greeley-Grant campaign. And when the men came to join the women after dinner Cyrus went away almost immediately. I am _so_ happy to-night.