Clelia laughed: "It might do him infinite good," she said, "to see that somebody is willing to kiss me——"
"What!"
"—Because he won't. And he knows, I think, that he could if he asked to."
"Good heavens!" I said, "I thought Smith had become sentimental over you, Clelia!"
"He is a very gloomy young man," said the girl with decision.
"But isn't he very evidently enamored of you?"
"He's too respectful."
I gasped.
"I can't goad him into human behavior," she went on with lively displeasure. "He must see that I am quite willing to be friendly and light-hearted,—that I am always ready to stop dusting and sweeping and making beds to converse with him. But all he does is to follow me about and remind me of the solemnity of life, and tell me that he is deeply concerned about my attitude toward the world. Fancy! It is not very gay, you see, my acquaintance with Monsieur Smith."
I was surprised. What she said presented Smith at a new angle. I had supposed him an idle philanderer.