He saw, with sudden delight, that her lips were quivering, and felt half the battle won.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, tenderly, his hand hovering temptingly over her smooth shoulder, the pink flesh veiled by the thin, dark-blue sheen of her blouse.
“Nothing,” she returned faintly, her voice trembling. “Oh! Mr. Lamont, please don’t ask me.”
“Are you lonely, too?” he asked. “Something has happened—something I’ve said, perhaps——”
He bent over her.
“Tell me. Have I hurt you? Tell me, dear—have I?”
She did not lift her eyes. Two big, hot tears blurred them, and went their own way down her burning cheeks. His word, “dear,” had had its effect.
“I can’t tell you,” she protested painfully.
“But you must,” he insisted. “I’ve seen a lot, little girl. There’s nothing that you could ever tell me that I wouldn’t understand.”
She made a brave effort to meet his eyes candidly.