She smiled, still in her friendly, unembarrassed way.
“I know what you mean, of course. The older men say it quite openly in England.—'Why don't a nice gel like you get married?'—It's rather a long story.” (“Has she been in love?” Stefan wondered.) “First of all, there are very few young men of one's own sort in Lindum; most of them are in the Colonies. Those there are—one or two lawyers, doctors, and squires' sons—are frightfully sought after.” She made a wry face. “Too much competition for them, altogether, and—” she seemed to take a plunge before adding—“I've never been successful at bargain counters.”
He turned that over for a moment. “I see,” he said. “At least I should do, if it weren't for it being you. Look here, Miss Elliston, honestly now, fair and square—” he smiled confidingly at her—“you're not asking me to believe that the competition in your ease didn't appear in the other sex?”
“Mr. Byrd,” she answered straightly, “in my world girls have to have more than a good appearance.” She shrugged her shoulders rather disdainfully. “I had no money, and I had opinions.”
(“She's been in love—slightly,” he decided.) “Opinions,” he echoed, “what kind? Mustn't one have any in Lindum?”
“Young girls mustn't—only those they are taught,” she replied. “I read a good deal, I sympathized with the Liberals. I was even—” her voice dropped to mock horror—“a Suffragist!”
“I've heard about that,” he interposed eagerly, “though the French women don't seem to care much. You wanted to vote? Well, why ever not?”
She gave him the brightest smile he had yet received.
“Oh, how nice of you!” she cried. “You really mean that?”
“Couldn't see it any other way. I've always liked and believed in women more than men. I learnt that in childhood,” he added, frowning.