“Shall I still be privileged to invite Miss Raleigh to supper—or was it tea?”
“You’re still angry. That isn’t fair of you when I’m being so frank. I’m going to be even franker. I’m feeling that way to-night. Comes of being tired, I suppose. Relaxing of the what-you-callems of inhibition. Do you know there’s a lot of gossip about us, back of stage?”
“Is there? Do you mind it?”
“No. It doesn’t matter. They think I’m crazy about you.” Her clear, steady eyes did not change expression or direction.
“You’re not; are you?”
“No; I’m not. That’s the strange part of it.”
“Thanks for the flattering implication. But you couldn’t take any serious interest in a mere reporter, could you?” he said wickedly.
This time Betty laughed. “Couldn’t I! I could take serious interest in a tumblebug, at times. Other times I wouldn’t care if the whole race of men were extinct—and that’s most times. I feel your charm. And I like to be with you. You rest me. You’re an asset, too, in a way, Ban; because you’re never seen with any woman. You’re supposed not to care for them.... You’ve never tried to make love to me even the least little bit, Ban. I wonder why.”
“That sounds like an invitation, but—”
“But you know it isn’t. That’s the delightful part of you; you do know things like that.”