"Elizabeth," he repeated, and I heard him give a little laugh of delight over the name of the beloved. "Elizabeth has a heart as big as the earth! I was—er—talking of hearts, natures, minds. So often girls make me feel their minds are rather narrow," confessed this odd type of woman-hater.
"Petty, you know," he went on. "Saying—er—things about other women—oh, brrrr! Spiteful to their own sex. Then being decent and jolly enough with—er—us. That puts me off; by Jove, nothing worse! I can say all this to you, Miss Matthews. You're different; like her. But lots of girls make me feel they—they—— Well, not enough cold tub!" he wound up ingenuously, "and too much face-powder!"
The last words brought a certain image into my mind; exquisitely-dressed, scented, powdered Muriel!
Thinking of yesterday, I said to the young man, "You're very severe on girls, but I saw you when you were flirting outrageously with one—no, not with Elizabeth. With Miss Elvey."
"To see if it annoyed Elizabeth!" he admitted, so frankly that I had to laugh over my work.
I said: "Now that was feminine enough! That was 'little'! Anybody would have imagined that you were very much attracted. In fact, I thought you were."
"Attracted? To Miss Elvey?" he cried out as if I'd said something too wildly improbable. "I? To her? Of all the girls on this earth?"
"Why not?" I asked, surprised. "Nearly every man is!"
"Yes, but I couldn't possibly be—er—attracted to Muriel Elvey!" he declared, vigorously shaking that small golden head of his. "Oh, no. Not to her! I know too much!"
"You hardly know her at all. You've only met twice."