“And then too,” she continued, “you seem even younger because of your being so unsophisticated.”
“So I am unsophisticated, am I?” he asked grimly.
“Yes,” she said nodding; “at least you impress me so.”
“I’m glad of that,” he said after a little pause.
She looked up quickly.
“Truly?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Oh,” she laughed, “if you say that, then I shall know that you are less unsophisticated than I thought you were.”
“Why so?” he asked surprised.
“Don’t you know that meek, mild men always try to insinuate that they are regular fire-eaters, and vice versa? Well, it’s so—and it’s so every time. There was once a man who was kissing me, and he drew my hands up around his neck in such a clever, gentle way that I was absolutely positive that he had had no end of practice drawing arms up in that way and I just couldn’t help saying: ‘Oh, how many women you must have kissed!’ What do you think he answered?—merely smiled and said: ‘Not so many as you might imagine.’ He showed how much he knew by the way he answered, for oh! he had. I found that out afterwards.”