She tossed her head impatiently. “You make me tired. It isn’t a girl’s place to help.”
Seating herself on the floor, with her legs curled about her and her ankles peeping out from under her skirt, she began to wrap up presents. “Please be nice,” she implored him in a little voice, “because I really do like you. Sit down here beside me and put your finger on the knots, so that I can tie them.”
He sat down opposite to her. That wasn’t quite what she had intended. She made a mischievous face at him.
“It isn’t a question of being nice,” he said quietly; “it’s a question of being honest. I’ve booked my berth on the Mauretania for to-morrow night.”
She gave a scarcely perceptible start. When she spoke, it was without raising her eyes. “You did that once before. You can’t play the same trick twice.”
“It isn’t a trick this time.”
She eyed him cloudily, still persuaded that it was. “Are you saying that because of what I told you about going to California? I thought you were too big and splendid to return tit for tat.”
“It isn’t tit for tat I booked this afternoon, before I knew about California.”
She gave her shoulders a shrug of annoyance. “Well, you know your business best.”
“I don’t; that’s why I’m telling you. I’m not being unkind. My business may be yours.”