"Because I am dangerous," he replied, with a flushed face. "You should run away when you see me approach, for I am not a fit companion for you. I have nothing to offer that you ought to accept; even my attentions are dangerous."
The bouquet was arranged by this time, and there was no further excuse for toying with it, so she laid it down, and looked at him.
"I suppose I should be very much frightened," she said, "but I am not. I am not at all afraid of you."
He laughed lightly to himself, and seemed amused at the answer she had made.
"I know nothing whatever about women," he said, "and I am sorry for it, for you are a puzzle to me. I know men as well as I know myself, and know what to expect of them under given circumstances; but all those of your sex I have ever known were as a sealed book. The men are always the same, but I never know what a woman will do. No two of them are alike; there is no rule by which you can judge them, except that they are always better than the men. I have never known this to fail, but beyond that I know nothing of your sex. I say to you that I am dangerous; you reply that you are not afraid of me. But you ought to be; I am sure of that."
"If you desire it," she said, "I am sorry, but I feel perfectly safe in your company."
"It's a pity," he returned, looking down the river again. "If you were afraid of me, I would not be dangerous. I am not liable to pelt you with stones, or rob you; but the danger lies in the likelihood of our becoming friends."
"Is friendship so dangerous, then?"
"It would be between you and me, because I am odd. Look at me."
She did as requested, with quiet confidence and dignity.