Temper was never an effective weapon to use with Nahnya.
She looked at him, scornful and disinterested as a child. "Put off? What's the matter with you?"
Passion could not withstand that look, open and cold as a deep spring. Ralph scowled and muttered, and dug up the stones with his toe.
After a while he returned to the charge with a more ingratiating manner. "I want to know something about you so that we can be friends," he said.
"What do you mean by friends?" she asked with another direct look.
Once more he had the feeling of the ground being cut from under him. "Oh, friends!" he said vaguely. "Friends like to be together, and tell each other everything, and help each other out."
"Can a white man be friends with a girl—like me?" she asked quietly. "I never saw that."
The unexpected implied truth flicked Ralph on the raw. He had no recourse but to lose his temper. "What have other men and girls got to do with you and me?" he cried hotly. "Am I the same to you as Joe Mixer and that lot?"
"Joe Mixer is always the same," she said. "He is easy to understand."
Ralph chose to see coquetry in this. "Is that the sort of man you like?" he cried.