"You're the penetrating one now, madam!" he jested. "As a matter of fact, you're quite wrong. Truly, I don't hate women."
"Honest In'jun?" she smiled. "Then"—dropping her voice—"why have you avoided me so often?"
"Avoided—you?" Real astonishment seemed to move him. He was at a loss now. Was she serious? "Oh, but you're joking."
"No, I'm not," she pouted. "You've passed me on the parade-ground dozens of times without a word. You've seen me at the window when you inspect in the morning——"
"Mrs. MacFarlane"—he still smiled but his tones were earnest—"if I've ever passed you without speaking, it was because I was in a hurry. And you know, of course, on parade——"
"I know, I know," she laughed reassuringly. It was not safe to go too far; and the limit had been reached. "But don't crush me more than you can help. Nothing hurts a woman more than to be utterly overlooked by a handsome man."
Her eyes fawned over him. He deliberately let the compliment pass.
"At least you'll admit, now, I'm not a woman-hater?"
"U-m-m!" She was still doubtful. Then, insinuatingly, with a languid glance, "Perhaps not. But your heart—has it ever been——?"
He read the rest: 'Has your heart ever been given in vain?' This was an outrageous probing into a hidden wound no-one had ever dared before. After the first shock, an impulse to put her violently in her place, as he well knew how to do, flashed upon him. But he was too chivalrous for that—and besides, it would betray his secret. So he answered with a smile: