"Why?"
"Fancy such a nice young man kissing his cook in the cellar."
"That isn't what you meant."
"Isn't it?" she asked airily.
"No."
"What did I mean then, Mr. O'Ryan?"
"I don't know," said I thoughtfully.
She gave me one of her smiling but searching looks, in which there seemed a hint of apprehension. Then, apparently satisfied by her scrutiny, she favored me with a bewitching smile in which I thought to detect a slight trace of relief.
"You will keep me, then?" she asked.
"Yes."