He was now so keen, like a dog with its nose to the scent, that he forgot her recent refusal and hooked his hand inside her arm. This time she did not draw away and they walked on, close-linked, alone in the moonlit street. Conscious of her reticences, ashamed of her lack of candor, and yet afraid to make damaging revelations, she said defensively: "I've told you as much as I want to tell." He seized on that, in his eagerness pressing her arm against his side, bending over her like a lover. "Yes, but not all. And why not all? Why should you keep anything from me?" "But why _should_ I tell you?" she asked, her loitering step coming to a stop. As the situation stood the question was a poser. He did not want to be her lover, had never intended it; his easy gallantry had meant nothing. But now, seeing her averted face, the eyes down-drooped, he could think of no reply that was not love-making. She stole a swift look at him, recognized his hesitation, and felt a stab, for it was the love-making answer she had expected. The mortified anger of the woman who has made a bid for tenderness and seen herself mistaken surged up in her. She jerked her arm violently out of his grasp and walked forward at a swinging pace. "What's the matter?" he said, chasing at her heels. "Are you angry?" "I shouldn't wonder," she threw over her shoulder. "Being nagged at for fun doesn't appeal to me." "But what do you mean?--I'm all at sea." She suddenly brought up short, and wheeling, faced him, her face lowering, her breath quick: "I'm the one to say that, for I don't get you, Boye Mayer, I don't see what you're up to. But sometimes I think you've just come snooping round roe to find out something. You come and you go, always so curious, always wanting to know, pussy-footing round with your questions and your compliments. What's on your mind?" Mayer found himself in an impasse. She knew him too well and she was too angry to be diverted with the temporizing lightness of their early acquaintance. There was only one thing to say to her, and--the cause of her excitement plain to his informed mind--it was not difficult to say. "Pancha," he pleaded, "you don't understand." "You bet I don't and I want to. I'd like to have it explained--I'd like to know what you hang round me for. Do you think I'm hiding something? Do you think I'm a criminal?" "I think you're the most charming girl in the world," he protested. She gave a smothered sound of rage and started off, faster than ever, down the street. This time he kept up with her, and rounding a corner the two lamps at the foot of the Vallejo's steps loomed up close at hand. "Stop," he said. "Wait." He had no idea the hotel was so near, and surprised at the sight of it his voice became suddenly imperious and he seized her arm with a dominating grip. She tried to jerk it away, but he held it and drew her, stiff and averse, toward him.