“But, Monsieur,” she retorted, in a gentler tone, “I don’t see how you and I can touch at any point; our ways are entirely different; and my traditions do not permit me to make chance acquaintanceships. Pardon me for saying this frankly to you, but it is a question of pride.”
I felt the door had been firmly closed in my face. Why such a rebuff, when every instinct in me had been but of kindness? I was hurt, and my manner showed it. I turned stiffly, and, sinking back in my chair, returned to my book. Master Jack woke up and departed in search of a tray of cookies.
“Mr. Littledale,—please?”
I looked up so hastily that the book slipped from my hands and tumbled to the deck.
“I did not mean anything to offend you. You won’t be offended, will you?”
“Why, just for a moment, I wasn’t quite sure—” Such a clear feeling of joy rose in me, after the blank discouragement of a moment before, that I cried out:
“Good heavens, no; of course, I won’t!”
She looked at me a little shyly and then away, hesitating, and I feared I had frightened her away again with my tactless impulsiveness. However, after a moment, she turned to me.
“You were in the Legion, Monsieur?”