"Really?"
"Oh, as sure as you live. Do you think you could, you know?"
"I'm afraid I neither would nor could, Mr. Morton," she said placidly.
"Hum! Ha! By Jove, but that's beastly hard luck, Miss Chalmers!"
Rosalind hovered between offense and amusement. She did not know whether the eighteenth or the nineteenth offer was a compliment or otherwise. She compromised by admitting to herself that she was bored.
"Rotten luck," he repeated musingly, stroking his yellow mustache.
"You speak as if it were a game of chance."
"I—er— Oh, I beg your pardon. No offense whatever intended—really. Only you see these things go awfully hard with a fellow, Miss Chalmers."
"After less than a week's acquaintance?"
"Ah, but you know I'm an impetuous chap. That's the worst of it."