He smiled good-natured raillery. "How sure of yourself you feel!"
"Why do you say that?"
"Your remark. You are always making that kind of remarks. They're never made except by women who feel sure."
"But I don't," protested she. "On the contrary, I'm very humble—where you're concerned." She gave him a long look. "And you know that's true."
He laughed at her with his eyes. "No. I shan't do it. You'll have only your trouble for your pains."
She colored. "What do you mean?"
"That I won't propose to you. You've been trying to inveigle me into it for nearly a year now. But you'll have to do without my scalp."
The big Westerner's jesting manner carried his remark, despite its almost insolent frankness. Besides, what with Amy's content with herself and partiality for him, it would have been difficult for him to offend her. Never before had she been able to lure him so near to the one subject she wished to discuss with him. "What conceit," cried she, all smiles. "You fancy I've been flirting with you. I might have known! Men always misunderstand a woman's friendship. I suppose you imagine I'm in love with you."
"Not in the least. No more than I with you."
She looked crestfallen at this. Whether a woman has much or little to give a man, whether she wants his love or not, she always wishes to feel that it is there waiting for her. "Why do you imagine I wish you to ask me to marry you?" she asked, swiftly recovering and not believing him.