“I can do better now. I really am quite charmed with the game. I’d like to make love to you—for a long time.”
“Most flattering, Mr. van Tuiver—but how about me? We’ve conversed a lot already, and you haven’t said one interesting thing.”
“Miss Castleman!”
“Not one—excepting one or two that have been insolent.”
There was a pause. “Really,” he pleaded, “that is a hard thing to say!”
“Do you mean,” she inquired, coldly, “that you have not realized the meaning of what you said to me when we met on the street?”
“I don’t know just what you refer to,” he replied, “but you must admit that you had me at a great disadvantage that evening.”
“What disadvantage, Mr. van Tuiver? The fact that I did not know who you were?”
She could feel him wince. She was prepared for a retort—but not so severe as the one which came. “The disadvantage,” he said, “that you pretended not to know who I was.”
“Why,” she exclaimed, “what do you mean?”