"You darling little liar!" The fondness in his voice made the epithet a word of sweetest praise.
Cicily stirred animatedly, casting off her assumed listlessness, in the bliss of this honest tribute from him who had so sternly flouted her aforetime. Her eyes of gold lighted radiantly as they were lifted to his.
"Oh, no—a big liar, I'm very much afraid." She leaned forward, and her voice was gloating as she continued: "Oh, Charles, isn't it just splendid! And it was all so gloriously simple! Why, it isn't on my conscience one tiny little bit. You see, they lied, and so, of course, I was justified in lying. It was to save you, and to help our workers down there. So, I lied, and I'm glad of it." She gurgled unrestrainedly for a moment. "Do you know, Charles, dear, a woman can beat a man lying, any time!... Oh, it's great!"
But Hamilton, not being under the thrall of intuitions, was not yet ready to rejoice over a victory that remained to be won.
"Wait," he admonished. "You know, we haven't heard from Johnson yet. We don't know what he'll do."
"Pooh!" Cicily retorted confidently, for in her wisdom she accepted the dictum of her instinct without reserve. "If it should be necessary, why, I'll convince him, too."
His curiosity prompted Hamilton to ask a leading question.
"How did you come to think of it?" he inquired eagerly.
"Oh, I just thought of it because—because—" Cicily halted, completely at a loss. She knew very well how she had come to think of it. The idea had been the kindly gift of intuition—that was all there was to it. But the explanation of the fact to a mere man, with his finical dependence on logic and all manner of foolishness in the way of reasoning, offered considerable difficulty. So, she rested silent, puzzling over a means for making the truth lucid to a member of the non-intuitional sex.