The first part of this pleased her, the last outraged her afresh. "Handle me!" she cried. "I like that!"
Evan saw his mistake. "That's not the word," he said quickly. "I mean I study how to please you, and only seem to get in wrong."
"Don't 'study'," she said with a superior air. "Just be yourself."
"But I am myself, and it only provokes you."
The brown eyes flashed. "Oh, you're too conceited for words!"
This was a new thought to Evan. He considered it. "No," he said at last, "I don't think I am. At least not offensively conceited. But it seems to me you are so accustomed to having men bow down before you that the mildest independence in a man strikes you as something outrageous."
This was near enough the truth to be an added cause for offense. She received it in an ultra-dignified silence.
"I'd like to bow down before you too," Evan went on smiling. "But something tells me if I did it would be the end of me. You would despise me."
Her mood changed abruptly. "I feel better now," she said. "One really cannot take you seriously. I'll sing."
Her hands drifted over the keys, and she dropped into "Mighty lak' a Rose." The air was admirably suited to the deeper notes of her voice. The listener's heart was drawn right out of his breast; he forgot at once his fear of being mastered, and his great desire to master her.