"Oh, don't you?" he finished with a smile.
"No, I don't. And I don't believe you when you way that you think Reggie and I were sited to each other. Because if you thought I was the kind of girl to be satisfied with Reggie, you wouldn't have thought it worth while to make a vagabond of me."
His brows drew downward. "I haven't made a vagabond of you—not yet."
She examined his face steadily.
"You mean—that you don't believe me to be sincere?"
He didn't reply at once.
"I won't quibble with you, Hermia," he said in a moment. "You've paid me a pretty compliment by coming with me out here. But I'm not going to let it blind my judgment. You were hopelessly bored—back there. You've admitted it. You felt the need of some other form of amusement—so you chose this. That's all."
Hermia straightened and sat with her hands clasped around her knees, looking at vacancy. "That's unkind of you," she said quietly.
"I don't mean it to be unkind," he went on softly. "I don't deny the genuineness of your impulse. But you mustn't forget that you and I have grown up in different schools. I'm selfish in my way as you are in yours. I choose this life because I love it better than anything else, because it's my idea of contentment. I've approached it thoughtfully and with a great deal of respect, as a result of some years of patient and unsuccessful experiment with other forms of existence. That's the reason why I'm a little jealous for it, a little suspicious of your sudden conversion."
[Illustration: "Even Clarissa stopped her grazing long enough to look up.">[