“That my heart and brain are at war, Miss Holly. My heart says: ‘Down on your knees!’ but my brain says: ‘Don’t you do it, my boy; she’ll lead you a dance that your aged limbs won’t take kindly to, and in the end she’ll run out of your sight, laughing, leaving you to sorrow and liniment!”
“You have as good as called me a coquette, Mr. Winthrop,” charged Holly, severely.
“Have I? And, pray, what have you been doing for the last ten minutes but coquetting with me, young lady? Tell me that.”
“Have I?” asked Holly, with a soft little laugh. “Do you mind?”
“Mind? On the contrary, do you know, I rather like it? So go right ahead; you are keeping your hand in, and at the same time flattering the vanity of one who has reached the age when to be used even for target practice is flattering.”
“Your age troubles you a great deal, doesn’t it?” asked Holly, ironically. “Please, why do you always remind me of it? Are you afraid that I’ll lose my heart to you and that you’ll have to refuse me?”
“Well, you have seen me for a week,” answered Winthrop, modestly, “and know my irresistible charm.”
Holly was silent a moment, her brown eyes fixed speculatively on the man’s smiling face. Then——
“You must feel awfully safe,” she said, with conviction, “to talk the way you do. And I reckon I know why.”