"Mr. Swift," she began, and stopped amid sudden confusion.
"Tell me, Miss Cooper," I encouraged her.
"Oh, I can't—I should not," she said, blushing.
Her blushes signified a deal to me, for I harbored an idea that she was not given to betraying her feelings so vividly. I was curious.
"The first impulse was the best, I 'm sure," I urged.
"It was merely a flitting thought," she responded, her repose still shaken; "it was purely out of absent-mindedness that I came so near to voicing it. It was nothing, believe me. There—it is gone!"
"Which is to be deplored," I soberly returned. "I attach considerable importance to your thoughts. Besides, you opened this conversation with an assurance of frankness. Perhaps—so far—I have n't been as frank as I might; but it's simply because I have not yet found words to tell you all you want to know."
At once she stripped the occasion of its seriousness.
"Dear me!" she laughed, "you are a diplomat, too; how alluringly you persuade one to talk! Very well. If the impertinence of my poor little idea will not drive you to changing your opinion, I will put it into words."
I waited.