“I am stupid,” he replied. “I have been all day.”
“What is the matter?” Her voice did not soften as another woman’s might have done, but it betrayed interest. “Are you puzzling?”
He coloured, nettled at her insight; but he answered, coldly:—
“Yes; I am puzzling.”
“Do not,” said Miss Hathaway, significantly. “Puzzle about any one else in California, but not about Nina Randolph.”
“What is this mystery?” he exclaimed impatiently, then added hastily, “oh, bother! I am too much of a wanderer to puzzle over any one.”
Miss Hathaway fixed her large cold blue regard upon him. “Do you love Nina Randolph?” she asked.
“I am afraid I love all women too much to trust to my own selection of one.”
“Now you are stupid. Go and talk to Nina.” She turned her back upon him, and smiled indulgently to a new-comer.