"Mr. Hatteras," said she, when we had discussed the weather and the sunset, "I have been thinking lately that you desire to avoid me."
"Heaven forbid! Miss Wetherell," I hastened to reply. "What on earth put such a notion into your head?"
"All the same I believe it to be true. Now, why do you do it?"
"I have not admitted that I do do it. But, perhaps, if I do seem to deny myself the pleasure of being with you as much as some other people I could mention, it is only because I fail to see what possible enjoyment you can derive from my society."
"That is a very pretty speech," she answered, smiling, "but it does not tell me what I want to know."
"And what is it that you want to know, my dear young lady?"
"I want to know why you are so much changed towards me. At first we got on splendidly—you used to tell me of your life in Torres Straits, of your trading ventures in the Southern Seas, and even of your hopes for the future. Now, however, all that is changed. It is, 'Good-morning, Miss Wetherell,' 'Good-evening, Miss Wetherell,' and that is all. I must own I don't like such treatment."
"I must crave your pardon—but——"
"No, we won't have any 'buts.' If you want to be forgiven, you must come and talk to me as you used to do. You will like the rest of the people I'm sure when you get to know them. They are very kind to me."
"And you think I shall like them for that reason?"