"Not very," said I. "Are you, Countess?"
She said, dreamily, that she was, but her side glance belied her. Never did the goddess of mischief look at me out of two human eyes as audaciously as she was doing now. And it was so transparent a challenge, so utterly without disguise, that we both laughed.
I don't know why I laughed unless the soreness in mind and heart had provoked their natural reaction. A listless endurance of suffering is the first symptom of indifference—that blessed anodyne with which instinct inoculates unhappy hearts when the bitterness which was sorrow wears away and leaves only dull resignation.
"At dinner," she said, "I made up my mind that you are an interesting man. I am wondering."
"I came to a similar conclusion concerning you," said I. "But I'm no longer wondering how near right I am."
"Such a pretty compliment! Also it dissipates any doubts regarding you."
"Did you have any, Countess?"
"Well, you know what I asked you at dinner. You understood? You read lips, don't you?"
"I read yours."
"I wasn't sure. You gave me no answer."