“You have not wit enough to think of one, you mean?”
“Perhaps so,” she answered, and looked at him with eyes full of a great and wistful longing to be told.
“Well, I’ll tell you. There is the door of my heart. Any other woman would have thought of it at once.”
She shook her head.
“I’ve had no practice that way. I shouldn’t know how to go about to find it.”
“No? As women go, you are intensely stupid. You possess all the disadvantages of a school-girl, without any of the attractions of youth.”
“I’m not very old,” said Rosalie. “I’m only twenty-three.”
“There you are again. You can keep nothing to yourself.”
“I only told you what my age was.”
“Well, I’ve none of the curiosity of a census paper, and women who tell their ages are a pest.”