"No, you weren't," she said easily. "On the contrary, I venture to suggest that you were thinking of yourself, your life and what it has been."
"You are psychological."
"But I have guessed correctly, haven't I?"
"I'm compelled to agree that you have."
They had reached the river now, and took a seat where they could look out over its swiftly moving waters.
"Frankly I wish you would tell me of your life," she said seriously. "My brother who, as you know is now dead, told me so much of you. Indeed, he was so very much impressed with you and your ways. He used to tell me of what an extraordinary character you were, and I was so anxious to meet you."
He was silent, but she was an unconventionally bold person. She was curious, and the more he was silent on such topics, the more anxious she became to know the secret that he held.
"I appreciate your silence," she said, and gave him the spell of her wonderful eyes. Stretched there under a walnut she was the picture of enchantment. Almost he wanted to forget the years and what had passed with them since she wrote him that letter that he had received too late.
"I want to ask you one question—have wanted to ask it for years," she pursued. "I want to ask it because, somehow, I am not able to regard you as a flirt." She paused then, and regarded him with her quick eyes, expectantly. But he made no answer, so she went on. "From what I have heard, I think I may be free to discuss this," and she paused again, with her eyes asking that she may.
He nodded.