She turned her face toward me and surveyed me leisurely with those blue-gray eyes.
"I do like you," she said, kindly, "but—"
"You think I demand too much for my twenty dollars a week," I said, with an attempt to be merry. "I know I do. I realize that my contract with you was for typewriting services. There is no doubt you can hold me to that bond if you so elect. All I want to say is, I am like most contractors—and mean to better my bargain, if I can."
"What do you want?" she asked, in clear, distinct tones. "We have agreed not to lie to each other. What do you want?"
I rose and looked out upon the sea. A tiny sail was visible in the distance.
"I want a closer friendship with you," I replied, after studying the form of words.
"I think we are pretty close friends already," she said. "I would not have believed, had I been told by some fortune-teller in New York, that in ten days we would be on such perfectly intimate terms."
I resumed my seat and stretched my arms above my head.
"Why, this—this is nothing!" I said.
"I was afraid you would take that view of it," she answered, soberly, "and I hope you will permit me to resume the position called for in what you term our 'contract.'"