“I don't understand.”
Harz shrugged his shoulders.
“You've no business to do that,” said the girl in a hurt voice; “I want to know.”
“Your heart is not in it,” said Harz.
She looked at him, startled; her eyes had grown thoughtful.
“I suppose that is it. There are so many other things—”
“There should be nothing else,” said Harz.
She broke in: “I don't want always to be thinking of myself. Suppose—”
“Ah! When you begin supposing!”
The girl confronted him; she had torn the sketch again.