“Yes, I suppose so,” said he to close the subject; but unconsciously his glance traveled round the room, rested here and there for an instant on the evidences of slovenly housekeeping which always disfigure any great house for a critical observer. Her glance followed his. Presently she colored, for she understood. “You are a terrible man,” said she. “You see everything.” “I wish I did,” replied he, not realizing what she had in mind. “Then I’d paint the picture I dream about.” “Do you like these people?” asked she. “Certainly. They seem very nice. They’re most attractive to look at.” “But you wouldn’t be friends with them?” “Couldn’t be,” said he. “We have too little in common.” “Don’t you want _any_ friends?” she said wistfully. “I have friends. I shall have more. People of my own sort--people who can give me what I want and who want what I have to give.” “You despise us--don’t you?” cried she. “Haven’t I told you,” protested he, “that I don’t despise anybody? Why should I think people despicable because they are different?” “You’d despise my sister Rhoda, who married the Earl of Broadstairs for his title.” “Not at all. I approve of her for taking what she wanted. Why should she have been a hypocrite and married for love when she didn’t want love, but splurge?” “Do you know why I was so anxious to have you come here?” “How you do jump about!” laughed he. “Well--why? To smooth down----” “No,” she interrupted, coloring furiously. “I _must_ be truthful with you. I wanted it because I thought you’d be impressed.” “And I am,” he assured her, a friendly smile of raillery in his eyes. “I had no idea you were such a grand person.” “Don’t jeer at me,” she pleaded. “I’m in earnest. It isn’t fair to mock at anyone who’s in earnest--is it?” “No. It’s contemptible,” said he. “But I understand you better than you understand yourself.” In defiance of conventionality she looked at him with eyes whose meaning no observer could have mistaken. He glanced hastily round. “Don’t do silly, sensational things,” said he. “You’re making us both ridiculous.” “I don’t in the least care,” she declared. He said sternly: “Now, my friend, I’m getting just a little tired of this. You’ve always had your own way. You are piqued because you can’t make a fool of me. So, you are willing to go to any lengths. I understand you perfectly.” Her gaze was steady and earnest--not at all proper for a public place. “Do you think I’m simply coquetting? Don’t you realize that I’m in earnest?” “Perhaps you think you are,” admitted he. “You’re so wrought up by your game of make-believe that you have partly convinced yourself. Luckily, _I_ remain cool.” “If I were a poor girl you wouldn’t act like this!” “How did I act when I thought you were a poor girl?”