Sanborn stared, with fallen jaw gaping, while Mason continued in easy flow.
"And I have the matter under consideration. I saw the coming storm in her eyes. Last night as we sat together at the piano she turned suddenly and faced me, very tense and very white.
"'Mr. Mason, why can't you—I mean—what do you think of me?'
"I couldn't tell her that night what I thought of her, for she had seemed more minutely commonplace than ever. She had trotted round her little well-worn circle of graces and accomplishments, even to playing her favorite selection on the piano. I equivocated. I professed it was not very easy to say what I thought of her, and added:
"'I think you're a fine, wholesome girl,' as she is, of course.
"'But you don't think I'm beautiful?' That was a woman's question, wasn't it. 'Yes,' I said in reply, 'I think you are very attractive. Nature has been lavish with you.'
"Then she flamed red and stammered a little:
"'Then why don't you like me?'
"'I do,' I said.
"'You know what I mean,' she hurried on to say—'I want you to like me better than any other woman.'