"Don't try to guess."
He said this below his breath, as if frightened at his own boldness.
On the morrow he again waited impatiently for the moment to come when he could go and see Milena. The hour arrived; Uros passed and repassed by the house, but she was not to be seen. He durst not go and knock at her door—nay, he was almost glad that she did not expect him; it was much better so.
He little knew that he was being closely watched by her, through one of the crannies in the window-shutters. When, at last, he was about to go off, Milena appeared on the threshold. With a beating heart the youth turned round on his heels and went up to her. With much trepidation he looked up into her face.
"Does she, or does she not, know?" he kept asking himself; "and if she does, am I to ask her for a kiss?" At that moment he almost wished she had guessed the riddle, for he remembered his friend's words: "It was a crime to make love to a married woman."
"Oh, Uros, I'm like you! I can't guess. I've tried and tried, but it's useless."
There was a want of sincerity in the tone of her voice, that made it sound affected, and she was speaking as quickly as possible to bring out everything at a gush. After a slight interruption, she went on:
"Do tell me quickly, I'm so curious to know. What is it that makes men bald?"
"It's strange that you can't guess, you that are so very clever," he said, in a faltering voice.
"What, you don't believe me?" she asked, pouting her lips in a pretty, babyish fashion.