It was not what she expected he would say, and it rather pleased her.
Conversation is but an exchange of moods, and in spite of their inspiring surroundings, the moods of those two young people did not seem to appeal to each other. To Alice, whose constant life of self-denial had made her feel that the world was cold and selfish, his complaints seemed little short of sacrilege; and he felt he had made a mess of it somehow in his really honest desire to be sincere. But two people so placed must talk, whether they feel like it or not, and so these two tried hard to be sociable. He wisely allowed her to do the most talking, and was really interested in her humorous descriptions of school-teaching. When they were nearly home he said:
"You are not a bit like what I imagined a schoolma'am was like."
"Did you think I wore blue glasses and petted a black cat?" she asked laughingly.
"The glasses might be a protection to susceptible young men," he answered, "and for that reason I would advise you to wear them."
"Shall I get some to-morrow to wear while you are here?" she queried with a smile. "I will if you feel in danger."
"Would you do it if I admitted I was?" he replied, resolving to stand his ground, and looking squarely at her.
But that elusive young lady was not to be cornered.
"You remind me of a story Bert told once," she said, "about an Irishman who was called upon to plead guilty or not guilty to the charge of drunkenness. When asked afterwards how he pleaded he said: 'Bedad, I give the judge an equivocal answer.' 'And what was that?' said his friend. 'Begorra, whin the judge axed me was I guilty or not guilty, I answered, "Was yer grandfather a monkey?" And then he gave me sixty days.'"
"Well," replied Frank, "that is a good story, but it doesn't answer my question."