Etta did not move when Steinmetz approached, except, indeed, to push one foot farther out toward the warmth of the wood fire. She certainly was very neatly shod. Steinmetz was one of her few failures. She had never got any nearer to the man. Despite his gray hair and bulky person she argued that he was still a man, and therefore an easy victim to flattery—open to the influence of beauty.
“I wonder why,” she said, looking into the fire, “you hate me.”
Steinmetz looked down at her with his grim smile. The mise en schne was perfect, from the thoughtful droop of the head to the innocent display of slipper.
“I wonder why you think that of me,” he replied.
“One cannot help perceiving that which is obvious.”
“While that which is purposely made obvious serves to conceal that which may exist behind it,” replied the stout man.
Etta paused to reflect over this. Was Steinmetz going to make love to her? She was not an inexperienced girl, and knew that there was nothing impossible or even improbable in the thought. She wondered what Karl Steinmetz must have been like when he was a young man. He had a deft way even now of planting a double entendre when he took the trouble. How could she know that his manner was always easiest, his attitude always politest, toward the women whom he despised. In his way this man was a philosopher. He had a theory that an exaggerated politeness is an insult to a woman’s intellect.
“You think I do not care,” said the Princess Howard Alexis.
“You think I do not admire you,” replied Steinmetz imperturbably.
She looked up at him.