“Why do you want to?”
What thoughts might have been in his mind were dispelled by the frankness of her answer.
“Because you need help—don’t you?” she said, her eyes never swerving under the shock of his stare, that was not easy to encounter.
“Take off your hat.”
She saw that it was his curiosity that had been aroused, and lifted her two arms in that wholly feminine gesture which seems to accord the first note of intimacy to the man who witnesses it. He stared at her more intently, with the eye of the artist, quick to note values—the massed blacks of her hair and the odd contrast of the sea-blue eyes against the brown oval of her face that gave to the little teeth, when she smiled her serious smile, the lustrous flash of milky porcelain.
“No; that’s true,” he said abruptly.
“What?” she asked, after a moment’s waiting.
“Do you want me to?”
“No, no; that’s all over,” he said moodily; and, as though the allusion had been unfortunate, he turned from her, bumping against the corner of a chest which protruded.