"Perhaps I have," she said with provoking reserve.
"Meaning—mind my own business," he inferred morosely.
"Well, now, what do you think?"
"I—well, I'd be sorry to think what some folks might," he blundered.
Joan's eyes flashed ominously. "Suppose you quit worrying about me; I guess I can take care of myself."
"I guess you can," he admitted heavily. "Excuse me."
"That's all right—and so'm I." Joan relented a little; lied: "I have come into some money—not much." Her gaze was as clear and straightforward as though her mouth had been the only authentic well-spring of veracity. "Let it go at that."
"That's right, too." His face cleared, lightened. "Le's get down to brass tacks: how about that sketch?"
"Didn't I say it seemed very interesting?"
He nodded with impatience. "But you ain't said how my proposition strikes you. That's what I want to know."