"Chet, d'you know, I like you!" she remarked.
"Oh, I'm not a bit offended at that," said I.
"I wish I could make you like me a little."
"You are looking for a sinecure, aren't you!"
She returned to her ants and poked at them meditatively.
"I don't know why I tell you such things," she went on. "I've never done so before. But you understand—don't you!"
Oh, yes. I understood. I had heard that sort of thing often enough before.
"I like you because you treat me just as you'd treat a man. You're not always remembering that I'm a woman. The doctor—" She broke off. I understood this, too, but it amazed me to find that she, so far away from the world, could have so easily found the woman's way.
"You've got a perfectly stunning profile," was her next play.
I showed her how, by pressing in the tip of my nose, it could be made decidedly Hebraic in contour. She pulled my hand away with a pretty protest at the outrage to my looks.