Wilverley went on:
“The loneliness of a big house is rather disconcerting, Cis.”
He had never called her “Cis.”
“Even when it is a hospital?” she asked.
“The strange faces make it the more so. You must have noticed lately that I have talked a lot about myself. I wanted you to know me. I want desperately to know you, but somehow you are not very self-revealing.”
“Is anybody?”
If she could divert the talk into an impersonal channel procrastination might be achieved. Wilverley refused the bait.
“I have tried to be so to you. Tell me, Cis, do you see me as I am, a plain enough fellow who wishes with all his heart that he was more attractive?”
“I think I see you,” she admitted, after an instant’s hesitation.
“I have not studied the arts that please women.”