"But I swear—" he began.
"So do I," she interrupted him, "that you bore me to extinction with things like that, Brent; honestly you do! If you can't be just a little bit sincere, I can't be interested in you."
They had known each other for more than two months; two months of almost daily, unconventional contact, but this was the first time she had called him Brent. It came now as a master-stroke for true understanding, and he threw back his head and laughed.
"My, but you're a corker—beg pardon—I mean a live wire!"
"Overwhelming flattery in either case," she smiled, "and that's the second sincere thing you've said."
"The second! Well, I like that! Perhaps when you begin thinking less about yourself, you'll be able to see more virtues in other people!"
"No one has ever accused me of thinking particularly about myself," she righteously flushed.
"No one has to," he replied, teasingly. "Being a teacher—although a very young and charming one—presupposes egotism."
"Your analysis is shrewd tonight," she coolly observed.
"Not at all," he affably continued. "An egoist, and a woman whose dress is unhooked in the back, are always blissfully unconscious that the world is seeing more of them than they normally would permit."