“I don’t know whether I wish to,” she replied, smiling slightly. “I hadn’t aspired to it; I hadn’t really considered it. I was thinking about renting a house.”
He said nothing, but, as the painful colour remained in his face, the girl decided to be a little kinder.
“Anyway,” she said, “I’m enjoying myself. And I hope you are.”
He said he was. But his voice and manner were so subdued that she laughed.
“Fancy asking a girl such a question,” she said. “You shouldn’t ask a woman whether she doesn’t want to know you. It would be irregular enough, under the circumstances, to say that you wanted to know her.”
“That’s what I meant,” he replied, wincing. “Would you consider it?”
She could not disguise her amusement.
“Yes; I’ll consider it, Mr. Shotwell. I’ll give it my careful attention. I owe you something, anyway.”
“What?” he asked uncertainly, prepared for further squelching.
“I don’t know exactly what. But when a man remembers a woman, and the woman forgets the man, isn’t something due him?”