She shook her head. "In my way? I wouldn't allow it. Why should I?"
"Why, indeed?" his genial irony was in his glance and he held her gaze until she felt the warm blood mount swiftly to her forehead. "Why, indeed unless you wanted to?" he laughed.
His eyes moved to the window, and she followed the large, slightly coarsened features of his profile and the fullness of his jaw which lent a suggestion of brutality to his averted face. Was it possible that she found an attraction in mere animal vitality? She wondered; then his caressing glance was turned upon her, and she forgot to ask herself the useless question.
"So I must presume, then, that I haven't disturbed you?" he enquired gayly.
Her eyes lingered upon him for a moment before she answered. "Oh, no, it wasn't you, it was Gerty," she replied.
He drew nearer until the arm of his chair touched her own. "I thought at least that my character was safe with Gerty," he exclaimed, not without the annoyance of an easily aroused vanity.
"I don't know what you'd think about the danger," she returned with seriousness, "but I simply hate the kind of things she told me."
His frown returned with gathered energy. "Is that so? What were they?"
"Oh, I don't know—nothing definite—but about women generally."
"Women! Pshaw! You're the only woman. There isn't any other on the earth."