"I know," I rejoined, "but I didn't know you then...."
"I was so anxious to help," she said. "And you would tell me nothing!"
"I'm afraid I don't know much about women," I said.
"Major Okewood," exclaimed the girl, turning round and looking me full in the face, "you surprise me!"
"It's true...." I began.
But Marjorie laughed merrily.
"You're too delightful for words," she said. "Why, my dear man, if you understood women you'd have...."
She broke off hastily and added:
"There are only two kinds of men: those who say they do understand women and don't and those who admit they don't and don't. But all the same don't you think it's rather insulting to one's intelligence to find a man locking up his secrets in his heart simply because he's read or heard somewhere that a woman is not to be trusted?"
I looked at her with interest. This young girl, with her ridiculous clump of reddish brown hair, her slim straight limbs, her calm child-like eyes, made me feel like a naughty little boy being reprimanded by his mummy.