"No, I suppose not. But since that day we went to the hills you have never consented to go out alone with me."
"Don't you know why?"
"I can't say that I do."
"Then you are duller than I took you to be."
The moon was shining and the light fell full upon her face, upward turned; she was smiling and her smile was cold. We had now reached the well, and I unwound the chain to let the bucket down. She placed her arms on the curbing and hummed a cool tune of idleness, of a total lack of interest in what I might be doing.
"Yes, I do know," I said.
"Then you are no duller than I thought you were," she ceased humming long enough to say. I drew up the dripping bucket and poured the pitcher full. She reached forth her hand to take it.
"Wait a moment," I pleaded, catching at her hand, but it flew away like a bird.
"Well," she said, straightening up and looking at me.