"Am I worth a little promise like that?"
"Lord! yes," I said. "But I always break my promises."
"You mustn't break this one. It's bad enough with Abana and Pharpar, as you call them. You know you're really—you won't mind my saying it?—you're old enough...."
"Age only makes me more susceptible," I lamented. The statement was perfectly true and I have suffered much mental disquiet on the subject. So far as I can see, my declining years will be one long riot of senile infidelity.
"I don't mind that," said Sylvia with a close-lipped smile; "but I don't want pretty speeches." She jumped down from the stile and stood facing me, with her clear brown eyes looking straight into mine. "You're not in love with me, are you?"
I hesitated for a fraction of time, as any man would; but her foot tapped the ground with impatience.
"Don't be absurd!" she exclaimed, "you know you're not; you've known me five minutes. Well,"—her voice suddenly lost any asperity it may have contained, and she laid her hand almost humbly on my arm—"please don't behave as if you were. I hate it, and hate it, and hate it, till I can hardly contain myself. But I should like you as a friend. You've knocked about the world, you're seasoned——"
I held out my hand to seal the bargain.
"I was horribly rude just now!" she exclaimed with sudden penitence. "I was afraid you were going to be like all the rest."
"Tell me what's expected of me," I begged.