"Mr. Bowles," she said, in measured tones, "who are you, anyway?"
"Who—me?" parried Bowles, lapsing into the vernacular. "Why, you know me! I'm Bowles, the gentleman you met at Mrs. Melvine's."
"There! You see?" commented Dixie. "You're afraid to tell your own name, and I'm——"
"Yes?" questioned Bowles.
"Well, I don't know what I'm afraid of," she went on bluntly, "but I've got something on my mind."
"Why, surely," began Bowles, apprehensively, "I—I hope I haven't given offense in any way. You were hurt, you know—and I was a little excited—and——"
"Oh, that's all right," said Dixie heartily. "You're a perfect gentleman—I always knew that. But you haven't had much to do with women, have you, Mr. Bowles?"
Her voice trailed off a little at the close, and Bowles looked up at her mystified. He thought quickly, wondering where she was leading him, and decided to tell the truth.
"Why, no, Miss Lee," he stammered, "I suppose not. I hope I haven't——"
"Oh, no, no!" cried Dixie. "I don't mean that. I was just thinking—well, I mustn't take advantage of you, then."