She did not smile; she did not even look up at him, but sat gazing at nothing, with countenance as solemn and imperturbable as that of a Sphinx.
“How am I ever to understand you, Dorothy, you seem such a riddle?” said Paul presently.
“You will never understand me,” she answered with a sigh, “No one ever has understood me, and you will be just like the rest!”
“But you will never let me be afraid of you, like the others, will you?” he exclaimed half in earnest.
“I don't know; others are; why should not you be?”
She was still staring into vacancy, with her hands clasped, and Paul thought he detected a little, just a little, of the same expression he had seen in the portrait. He started, and Dorothy saw him.
“What is the matter?” she inquired, looking around at him for the first time.
“Nothing; only you looked so dreadfully in earnest, you startled me.”
“But surely you would not be startled by so simple a thing as that!”
“Why not? I am only human,” he answered.