He turned and looked full at her, his eyes glowing with a grave humor.
“I’d tell you if I thought you’d listen to me,” he returned, significantly. “But it seems that every time I get on that subject you poke fun at me. Is there anything I can do to show you that I love you—that I want you more than any man ever wanted a woman?”
“Yes—there is.” Her smile was tantalizing.
“Name it!” he demanded, eagerly.
“Stop being tragic. I don’t like you when you are tragic—or when you are talking nonsense about love. I have heard so much of it!”
“From me, I suppose?” he said, gloomily.
He had turned his head and she shot a quick, eloquent glance at him. “From you—and several others,” she said, deliberately.
There was a resentful, hurt look in his eyes when he turned and looked at her. “Just how many?” he demanded, somewhat gruffly.
“Jealous!” she said, shaking her finger at him. “Do you want a bill of particulars? Because if you do,” she added, looking demurely downward, “I should have to take several days to think it over. You see, a woman can’t catalogue everything men say to her—for they say so many silly things!”
“Love isn’t silly,” he declared. He looked rather fiercely at her. “What kind of a man do you like best?” he demanded.