"As if mentally blending colors all the time?"
"Yes; that and—seeing flaws."
"I have discovered none," he told her brazenly.
But again her secret cares were claiming her thoughts, and the gay, inconsequential banter died upon her scarlet lips as a second time her glance ranged away, sounding mysterious depths of anxiety.
Provoked, he would have continued the chatter. "I have confessed," he persisted. "You know everything of material interest about me. And yourself?"
"I am merely Dorothy Calendar," she answered.
"Nothing more?" He laughed.
"That is all, if you please, for the present."
"I am to content myself with the promise of the future?"
"The future," she told him seriously, "is to-morrow; and to-morrow ..." She moved restlessly in her chair, eyes and lips pathetic in their distress. "Please, we will go now, if you are ready."