Lilian regarded him with some uneasiness.
"Such speeches do not become you," she said. "No doubt there are idle men who consider that they prove irresistible to most of us; but you—you are different."
"Yes," Dane assented somewhat grimly. "I suppose my lot is to drag the measuring chain and do the hard work more famous men get paid for; but a little variety is refreshing—and there were times when you did not seem to find any levity on my part wholly irksome."
The girl's color rose a little, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. She understood that this was a challenge, but she did not guess that it had been thrown down for her sake out of kindliness. Unfortunately, she recalled several incidents connected with the days to which her companion referred, and she recollected that he had an unpleasantly good memory.
"We were only boy and girl then," she said. "One forgets such nonsense as one grows older. Still, I am almost glad you mentioned it, because—can't you see the uselessness of remembering?"
Dane, though he did not say so, saw most clearly the impossibility of ever being able to forget; but he was considerate, and had sense enough to see what he would lose by taking advantage of the position. He had noticed how, until his conduct reassured her, she held aloof from him.
"What could an unfortunate man answer?" he asked with a mirthless smile. "Do you expect me to admit that I am pleased to consider it is so?"
Lilian looked down at the grass to hide the anger in her face.
"Please don't—I am not wholly foolish," she said; and added abruptly, "I have almost decided on going to London for a course of art study shortly."
Dane leaned forward a little, and forced her to look up at him.