"Meaning me, I suppose?"
"Of course. Who else should I mean? Come. I won't have your forehead wrinkled." She brushed the lines away with her fan. "Smile, Neil, smile, or I won't speak to you all night."
He could not withstand her charming humour, and he did smile. But, in spite of all, he shook his head ruefully.
"It's all very well making a joke of it," he said. "I know you love me as I love you, but your father--he knows nothing of our attachment."
"My father? Pooh! I can twist him round my finger."
"I am not so sure of that. Remember, I have known him many years. He can be hard when he likes, and in this case he will be hard. He is rich, has a position, while I----"
"While you are Neil Webster, the great violinist."
"Oh that is all right," he said, dismissing his artistic fame with a nod. "But I mean I do not know who my parents are. I never heard of them."
"Perhaps, like Topsy, you growed," Ruth said, for she attached no importance to his speech. "Dear! What does it matter?"
"A great deal to a proud man like your father. Yet he may know my parents since he brought me up. I'll ask him."