“I don't know,” he answered simply. “If I really believed—if you were always kind like this—but, you see, you make two men of me. When I am with you I am a fool, your fool, to do as you will with. When I am away, some glimmerings of common sense come back, and I know.”
“You know what?” she murmured.
“That you are not honest,” he added.
“Mr. Tavernake!” she exclaimed, lifting her head a little.
“Oh, I don t mean dishonest in the ordinary way!” he protested, eagerly. “What I mean is that you look things which you don't feel, that you are willing for any one who can't help admiring you very much to believe for a moment that you, too, feel more kindly than you really do. This is so clumsy,” he broke off, despairingly, “but you understand what I mean!”
“You have an adorable way of making yourself understood,” she laughed. “Come, do let us talk sense for a minute or two. You say that when you are with me you are my slave. Then why is it that you do not bring Beatrice here when I beg you to?”
“I am your slave,” he answered, “in everything that has to do with myself and my own actions. In that other matter it is for your sister to decide.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose I shall be able to endure life without her. At any rate, we will talk of something else. Tell me, are you not curious to know why I insisted upon bringing you here?”
“Yes,” he admitted, “I am.”