"Nothing to forgive if you were only amusing yourself—much to forgive if you really care"
His ingenuousness was alarming.
"Par exemple!" She bantered him. "You mean that I—that I love you?"
"Yes, I mean just that."
She took quick refuge in laughter.
"You are the most surprising creature! Much as I esteem, I cannot flatter you so much as that." And she drew away from him, still laughing softly.
"I have done you a wrong," he went on steadily.
His simplicity was heroic. She did not dare question him.
"You have a New England conscience, mon ami," she said, gently ironical. "Your code is meshed in the cobwebs of antiquity. One kisses in the moonlight—or one doesn't kiss. What is the difference? It is a pastime—not a tragedy. Je M'amusais. I fished for minnows and caught a Tartar—voilà tout. I love you—I do love you—but only when you paint, monsieur l'artiste—then you are magnificent—a companion to the gods! When you kiss— Oh, la la! You are—er—paleozoic!"
It was Olga's master stroke. She could parry no longer and must thrust if she would survive. The tenderness that this gaucherie aroused in her made her the more merciless in her mockery! And she was aware of a throb of exaltation as she made the sacrifice which prevented the declaration that was hanging on his lips. In making a fool of him again she was saving him from making a fool of himself. Markham did not reply and only stood there gnawing at his lips. He was no squire of dames he knew, and what she said of him touched him on the raw of his self-esteem. Paleozoic he might be, but it stung him that she should tell him so.