"What did you do it for, Mr. Scott?"
"I? Do what?" He was surprised by the directness of the attack.
"Oh, well! I, then. You know. What did you let me do it for?"
He made no reply. In his stillness was a sense of expectancy to which she responded.
"I warned you what music did to me. But you—you needn't have let me——" She paused. "Do you like me a little?" she murmured.
"Yes. A little."
"Only a little?" she teased, half child demanding the comfort of affection, half conscious coquette. "Not more than that?"
"Perhaps a little more," he smiled.
"But not half as much as you do Con," she said deliberately.
He was silent, his attention apparently engrossed in a heavy truck which gave them bare passing room.