"So you came after me?" he smiled tenderly.
"Some world," she said, getting a little red, "where you didn't want me."
"I always want you—" he stopped short, drew his forward-bending figure up, and pulled hard at the oars. "But as to my world, you'd hate it if you found yourself at close quarters with it. I give you the best side of it in my letters."
"I've told you I don't want only the best."
"What do you want?"
"All."
The brave, yet shamefaced look left nothing doubtful; but he affected to think she spoke only of letters.
"If I wrote you 'all,' I'd make a pessimist of you in no time."
"Would it be things about—about other women that would make me—"
"Chiefly about men; most of all, about the things that are stronger than men."