Wallingford was examining her with the slightly mocking, indifferent eyes that had piqued not a few women into trying to make him like them. “You look positively human. And it’s becoming—most becoming.”
Catherine began to scramble into her pose. She did not like to be caught lapsing from her ideals.
“Why do you do it?” Wallingford dropped his mockery for an instant. “Your own individuality, no matter how poor you may think it, is far better than any you could possibly invent—or borrow.”
Catherine looked hurt. “Why do you charge deception against everyone who lives above your level?” she asked. “I hope you’re not going to be nasty this morning, Joe. I’m blue.”
“What’s the matter? Something real, or——”
“Don’t tease. This is real.”
“What is it? I see you wish to be encouraged to tell me.”
“No—I couldn’t tell anyone.” Catherine’s eyes were tragic. “It’s one of those things that can’t be told, but must be——”
“Go on. What is it?” Wallingford refused to be impressed by tragedy. “I see you’re dying to tell me. Why not get it over with?”
“You are so sympathetic, Joe. You pretend not to understand me, but I feel that you always do.”