"Jealous!" he stammered out, vexed and ill at ease. "It isn't for me to be jealous, but I—"
"No, certainly, but all the same, without being jealous, you men do not like a woman to look pretty, or to be nice, or amusing, for anyone else's benefit than just your own."
"Well, admitting that that is so, it is quite natural."
"Ah! you think so? Oh, well, a woman, on the contrary, is always glad when the men she likes are admired; she is delighted when other people like them too."
"Nonsense! You do not know anything about it, my dear Bijou. You are most deliciously inexperienced in such things fortunately."
"Why fortunately?" she asked, opening her soft, innocent eyes wide in astonishment.
"Because—"
He stopped short, and Bijou insisted, pinching his arm.
"Well, go on—do go on."
"No, it would be too complicated," he answered, evidently ill at ease, and trying to shake off the grasp of the strong little hand.