“Are you?”
“I think so! I am very generally misunderstood. Even you misunderstand me.”
She laid down her work and looked at him.
“Do I? Oh, I am very sorry!”
He gave a little nervous cough.
“Thank you! I do not suppose you can help yourself—all women judge by appearances. I am not an Adonis—never was,—and I’m getting old—and I confess to an irritability of temper occasionally—”
Her tenderly sympathetic nature sprang up at once to defend him against his own indictment.
“Oh, but you are not often disagreeable!” she said, in the frankest manner. “You can be perfectly charming if you like! When you first came to stay with us and help Dad I thought you a perfectly delightful man!—so brilliant and companionable!”
“Ah, those were in the early days!” he said, with a sigh. “The golden days of first acquaintance! You were very kind to me then,—though we had our little differences! But you didn’t mind helping me to light my pipe,—do you remember?—and once we had a pleasant walk across the fields. And you talked a great deal about love—”
“That was before the war!” she interposed.