"Yes," I said, watching it musingly, "I suppose it's because you're the only girl, don't you know, that I ever did think of before—oh, ever at all, dash it!"
The toe stopped. I could feel her looking at me sidewise, but I did not glance up, that I remember; was looking down, trying to get hold of a dashed idea I wanted to express.
"Don't know," I continued, boring away at her toe, yet hardly seeing it, "but suppose that's the reason I knew all the time she was lying; but still, somehow that doesn't seem to be the real reason I knew. I think the real reason I knew it couldn't be and wasn't true was"—I sighed heavily—"oh, dash it, it's so hard to get hold of the jolly thing!"
And there was a pause.
"The real reason?" her voice coaxed gently.
"Was because—" Then she moved the toe and it put me out—"I think just because—oh, yes, I know now!" And I looked up eagerly. "Just because I knew that you—are you!" I finished beamingly.
"Oh, I see!" She said it musingly, her finger lightly pressing upon her lips, her beautiful eyes studying me with the oddest, keenest side-glance.
A pause; and then: "And how long have you known me, pray? Just a—"
"A thousand years!" I said promptly and earnestly. "A thousand years and all my life, don't you know! Never will know you any better."
"I wonder," she murmured, nodding slowly. And then for a moment she didn't say a word, just sat there looking me over curiously, her expression half shy, half quizzical, don't you know.