She gave a little smile of victory which, if he had seen it, would have strangled all his new-born compassion.
“Why didn’t you tell me your story in the first place?” he demanded.
“When you are out in the world alone, you know,” she said sagely, “and everyone is taking a shot at you, you have to put out a bluff of bravado, same as a porcupine shoots out his quills.”
He gave another murmur of sympathy.
“Don’t feel too bad about it, Kind Kurt, because being knocked about sharpens your wits and makes you an expert dodger when you aren’t equal to fighting in the open.”
Suddenly into the black-purple sky shot forth a moon and stars.
“Makes the white lights of a city look like thirty cents, eh, Kurt?” she commented.
He made no response, and she was serenely aware of his silent disapproval.
“What’s matter, Kurt?”
“My name,” he replied frigidly, “is Walters.”