He continued to fill his pipe; and she to look at the sugar. Then she asked:
"What are you going to do:"
"I am going to light a match."
He did so as he spoke, holding the flickering flame to the bowl of his pipe.
"You know that's not what I mean."
"Do I?" The tobacco was becoming ignited; he sent a puff of smoke into the air. "What do you mean?"
She looked round at him.
"I am Dorothy Gilbert."
"Of course you are."
Nothing could have been more matter-of-fact than the air with which he said it. She spoke with a catching of her breath; as if she resented his coolness.