"Other—pigs?"
He turned sharply, seized her, and forcibly turned her toward the light. She made no effort to control her laughter, excusing it between breaths:
"I didn't mean to turn what you said into ridicule; it came out before I meant it.... Do let me laugh a little, Duane. I simply cannot care about anything serious for a while—I want to be frivolous——"
"Don't laugh so loud," he whispered.
She released his arm and sank down on a marble seat behind the flowering oleanders.
"Why are you so disagreeable?" she pouted. "I know I'm a perfect fool, and the champagne has gone to my silly head—and you'll never catch me this way again.... Don't scowl at me. Why don't you act like other men? Don't you know how?"
"Know how?" he repeated, looking down into the adorably flushed face uplifted. "Know how to do what?"
"To flirt. I don't. Everybody has tried to teach me to-night—everybody except you ... Duane.... I'm ready to go home; I'll go. Only my head is whirling so—Tell me—are you glad to see me again?... Really?... And you don't mind my folly? And my tormenting you?... And my—my turning your head a little?"
"You've done that," he said, forcing a laugh.
"Have I?... I knew it.... You see, I am horridly truthful to-night. In vino veritas! ... Tell me—did I, all by myself, turn that too-experienced head of yours?"