"I daresay I shall have a good many of yours"—and she smiled at him across the table.
They sat a moment looking at each other. "Don't go in for coquetry," Peter then said. "It's a waste of time."
"Well, that's civil!" the girl cried.
"Oh I don't mean for me, I mean for yourself I want you to be such good faith. I'm bound to give you stiff advice. You don't strike me as flirtatious and that sort of thing, and it's much in your favour."
"In my favour?"
"It does save time."
"Perhaps it saves too much. Don't you think the artist ought to have passions?"
Peter had a pause; he thought an examination of this issue premature. "Flirtations are not passions," he replied. "No, you're simple—at least I suspect you are; for of course with a woman one would be clever to know."
She asked why he pronounced her simple, but he judged it best and more consonant with fair play to defer even a treatment of this branch of the question; so that to change the subject he said: "Be sure you don't betray me to your friend Mr. Nash."
"Betray you? Do you mean about your recommending affectation?"