"Can I?" he asked.
"Yes...." Far in the inmost recesses of her calm and maiden heart something stirred, and her breath ceased for a second.... Innocent, not comprehending why her breath missed, she[99] looked at him with the question still in her blue eyes.
"Shall I tell you why real life is stranger than fiction?" he asked unsteadily.
"Tell me—yes—if——"
"It is stranger," he said, "because it is often more headlong and romantic. Shall we take ourselves, for example?"
"You and me?"
"Yes. To illustrate what I mean."
She inclined her head, her eyes fixed on his.
"Very well," he said. "Even in the most skillfully constructed story—supposing that you and I were hero and heroine—no author would have the impudence to make us avow our love within a few minutes of our first meeting."
"No," she said.