“You are very complimentary,” she told him, mockingly. “I wonder what there is in the world which I could teach so superior a person as Mr. Tavernake?”
He took her question quite seriously.
“I wonder what there is myself,” he answered. “And yet, in a way, I think I know.”
“Your imagination should come to the rescue,” she remarked.
“I have no imagination,” he declared, gloomily.
They were silent for several minutes; she was still studying him.
“I wonder you don't ask me any questions about myself,” she said, abruptly.
“There is only one thing,” he answered, “concerning which I am in the least curious. Last night in the chemist's shop—”
“Don't!” she begged him, with suddenly whitening face. “Don't speak of that!”
“Very well,” he replied, indifferently. “I thought that you were rather inviting my questions. You need not be afraid of any more. I really am not curious about personal matters; I find that my own life absorbs all my interests.”