‘You think that I——’
‘I think a good deal at times.’ He laughs lightly, if a little anxiously. ‘I am thinking even now.’
‘Of me?’
‘Naturally’—smiling. ‘Am I not always thinking of you?’
‘But what—what?’ demands she imperiously, tapping her slender foot upon the ground.
‘That you do not believe the martial James so hideous after all.’
‘Then you are wrong—quite wrong’—vehemently.
‘Yes? Well, then, I think now——’
‘Now?’
‘That you are a very dangerous little coquette.’