With that, she lifted her eyes, the color coming with a rush. “Wouldn’t you like to see my tongue, too?”
“I know your tongue; it has a sharp point.”
“I am sorry.”
“No you are not,” he answered settling himself back in an easy position, and taking a penknife from his pocket to play with. The small knife, with the pearl handle; how often she had seen that in his fingers. “You are a student, of human nature; tell me what you think of me.”
How could she give to that amused assurance the bare, ugly truth!
“How many times have you changed your mind about me?”
“Once, only once.”
“Then your first impression of me was not correct.”
With her usual directness, she answered, “No.”
The blade snapped. If she had seen but his face she would have supposed that he had cut himself. She hastened to speak: “Some one says that we must change our minds three times before we can be sure.”