An amused smile outlines itself around the corners of his handsome mouth.
"So you think it is solely my own fault that I have missed you—have not seen you. Well, perhaps it is—yet——"
"Yet what?"
"Oh, nothing—it does not matter."
"No, I suppose not," she responds, a little scornfully. "Nothing seems to matter much to you, Mr. Conway. I believe you have found the fabled Lotos. It would suit you, and such as you,
"In the hollow Lotos land to live and lie reclined
On the hills like gods together, careless of mankind."
"Whew! since when has my little Brownie learned to be sarcastic?" he queries, in genuine astonishment, trying to look into her face, but it is turned away from him, and she is idly stripping the thorns from the stem of a rose she has just broken. Ah! if she could only as easily eradicate the thorns that rankle in her gentle heart!
"Why don't you talk to me?" he says, pettishly.
"And have I not been talking?" turning an innocent, unconscious face toward him, a piquant smile on her lips.
"I know, but without taking any interest," he says, in an injured tone. "Don't you care to talk? Are you weary of me?"