"But I told you!"
"And I couldn't believe you——"
"But you expect me to believe you?"
He could not exactly interpret her bright, smiling, steady gaze.
"The trouble with you is," she said, "that there is nothing to you but good looks and talent. There was once, but it died—over in Europe—somewhere. No woman trusts a man like you. Don't you know it?"
His smile did not seem to be very genuine, but he answered lightly:
"When I ask people to have confidence in me, it will be time for them to pitch into me."
"Didn't you once ask me for your confidence—and then abuse it?" she demanded.
"I told you I loved you—if that is what you mean. And you doubted it so strenuously that, perhaps I might be excused for doubting it myself.... What is the use of talking this way, Geraldine?"
There was a ring of exasperation in her laughter. She lifted his glass, sipped a little, and, looking over it at him: