Trenton sat with his back against the tree, smoking in a meditative manner, and watching the flicker of the firelight on the face of his companion, whose thoughts seemed to be concentrated on the embers.
“Miss Sommerton,” he said at last, “I would like permission to ask you a second question.
“You have it,” replied that lady, without looking up. “But to prevent disappointment, I may say this is all the tobacco I have. The rest I left in the canoe when I went up to the falls.”
“I shall try to bear the disappointment as well as I may. But in this case the question is of a very different nature. I don’t know just exactly how to put it. You may have noticed that I am rather awkward when it comes to saying the right thing at the right time. I have not been much accustomed to society, and I am rather a blunt man.”
“Many persons,” said Miss Sommerton with some severity, “pride themselves on their bluntness. They seem to think it an excuse for saying rude things. There is a sort of superstition that bluntness and honesty go together.”
“Well, that is not very encouraging, However, I do not pride myself on my bluntness, but rather regret it. I was merely stating a condition of things, not making a boast. In this instance I imagine I can show that honesty is the accompaniment. The question I wished to ask was something like this: Suppose I had had the chance to present to you my letters of introduction, and suppose that we had known each other for some time, and suppose that everything had been very conventional, instead of somewhat unconventional; supposing all this, would you have deemed a recent action of mine so unpardonable as you did a while ago?”
“You said you were not referring to smoking.”
“Neither am I. I am referring to my having kissed you. There’s bluntness for you.”
“My dear sir,” replied Miss Sommerton, shading her face with her hand, “you know nothing whatever of me.”
“That is rather evading the question.”