He didn’t understand this girl, who could give him ivory miniatures one minute and propose to go away for months the next—who, while she refused to become anything to him, undertook to arrange his life.
He laughed tolerantly. “I’m afraid that can’t be. I shouldn’t accomplish much by tagging after a road-company all across a continent. You don’t seem to realize that I have a living to earn.”
“That was a nasty laugh,” she pouted; “I didn’t like it one little bit.”
She played with his fingers idly, lifting them up and letting them fall, like soldiers marking time. “You manicure them now. You’ve learnt something by coming to America—— Your living!” She smiled. “It seems to come easily enough. I hear you talk about it, but I never see you working.”
Here was the opening for which he had been waiting. “You’re right. I’ve hardly done a stroke since I landed. Winning you has taken all my time.”
“Has it?” She glanced round the room dreamily, making confidences impossible by her lack of enthusiasm.
He got up. “Shall we go back to the apartment? We can talk better there.”
She lounged to her feet. “If you’ll promise not to worry me. I’ve gone through too much to-day already.”
He knew the meaning of her fatigue; once more she was barricading herself. He was doubly sure of it when he saw her open her vanity-case and produce a veil. A veil was a means of protection which, above all others, he detested. “Don’t put that thing on.”
“I must. It’ll keep the wind off. I don’t like getting chapped.”