"Yes, that is true," she conceded, reluctantly; "but not always."
After a silence she said, "Michael, I have a secret."
The mere idea that Silver Heels possessed a secret which she had not at once revealed to me produced a complicated sensation in my breast. I was conscious of a sudden and wholly involuntary respect for Silver Heels, a hearty resentment, and a gnawing curiosity to learn the secret.
"Will you promise never, never to tell?" she asked, raising her eager eyes to me.
Again resentment and hurt pride stung me, but curiosity prevailed, and I promised, with pretended indifference, to soothe my weak loss of self-respect.
"Well, then," she said, lowering her voice, "I am sure that Mr. Butler is in love with me."
"Mr. Butler!" I cried out, in angry derision. "Why, he's an old man! Why, he's nearly thirty!"
Angry incredulity choked me, and I sat scowling at Silver Heels and striving to reconcile her serious mien with such a tomfool speech.
"If you shout my secret aloud," she said, "I shall tell you no more, Micky."
Again, troubled and astonished at her sincerity, I expressed my disbelief in a growl.