“Don’t you believe me? Why, are you not a pretty young woman?” he remarked, with an oily look in his eye.
The crimson came into her cheek, and she lowered her glance.
“Stop making fun of me, I beg you,” she said softly. “Is it true?”
“Is what true? That you are a pretty young woman? Take a looking-glass and see for yourself.”
“Strange man that you are!” she returned, with confused deprecation. “I mean what you said before about Jake,” she faltered.
“Oh, about Jake! Then say so,” he jested. “Really he loves you as life.”
“How do you know?” she queried, wistfully.
“How do I know!” he repeated, with an amused smile. “As if one could not see!”
“But he never told you himself!”
“How do you know he did not? You have guessed wrongly, see! He did, lots of times,” he concluded gravely, touched by the anxiety of the poor woman.