"Engaging in quite a flirtation with a total stranger."
"You cannot flirt—you are too sensible and artless; neither could I—with you, at least."
"Have you never flirted?" asked Sybil, laughing to cover what she felt to be a second mistake.
"Often."
"Then why not with me?" she asked naïvely and archly.
"First, tell me what is flirtation?"
"I know what it is; but cannot define or describe it."
"Shall I make the attempt?"
"Do, please," said Sybil, now laughing outright.
"It is neither coquetry nor exactly playing at courtship. It is one of those things most difficult indeed of description and of definition. It depends so much upon the time and place, the tone and tenor of those who attempt it, and on the mood of the moment, whether it be sad or gay. It is perilous work among the young and beautiful, as it is often so much mere nonsense, and yet is so much more dangerous to one's peace of mind than any nonsense could ever be. It is not so earnest or solemn as deliberate love-making, and yet it is not quite a mockery of it. It is a sharp weapon in the hands of the wary; but a dangerous pastime for those who have had no experience in affaires du coeur. It is a kind of lovemaking that commits one to no promise, and yet may raise the proudest and wildest anticipations in the breast, and elicit the most unwary confidence. Thus it is difficult to find where flirtation exactly begins, and still more to say where it may end—perhaps in real love and marriage. I fear I have read you quite a dissertation on the subject, a most hazardous one while looking into your bright eyes; and now tell me," added the officer, his tone and manner becoming more soft and earnest, "have you not done injustice to yourself and to me, for in all we have talked over so pleasantly both yesterday and to-day has anything of this vague kind been attempted?"