"Because she has hair like yours?"
"What a question! No, because I am acquainted with her brother, of course."
"And when you become acquainted with a man do you want to meet his sister?"
"Oh, you are getting to be a regular tease, Mr. Witherspoon. After awhile I shall be afraid to talk to you."
"I hope the clock will refuse to record that time. You say that you would like to see my sister. You shall see her; you must come home to dinner with me."
She gave him a quick look, a mere glance, the shortest sentence within the range of human expression, but in that short sentence a full book of meaning. One moment she was nothing but a resentment; but when she looked up again the light in her eyes had been softened by that half-sarcastic pity which a well-bred woman feels for the ignorance of man.
"Your sister has not called on me," she said.
He replied: "I beg your pardon for overlooking the ceremonious flirtation which women insist shall be indulged in, for I assure you that their ways are sometimes a mystery to me; but I admit that the commonest sort of sense should have kept me from falling into this error. My sister shall call on you."
"Pardon me, but she must not."
"And may I ask why not?"