He knew that she did, but a certain temperament prefers foolish questions to silence; and Alick Corfield was one who had that temperament.
"Not to-night," she answered, looking into the garden,
"Why not to-night? and when you dance so beautifully too—just as light as a fairy."
"Did you ever see a fairy dance?" was Leam's rejoinder, made quite solemnly.
Alick blushed and shifted his long lean limbs uneasily. He knew that when he said these silly things he should draw down on him Leam's rebuke, but he never could refrain. He seemed impelled somehow to be always foolish and tiresome when with her. "No, I cannot say I have ever seen a fairy," he answered with a nervous little laugh.
"Then how can you say I dance like one?" she asked in perfect good faith of reproach.
"One may imagine," apologized Alick.
"One cannot imagine what does not exist," she answered. "You should not say such foolish things."
"No, you are right, I should not. I do say very foolish things at times. You are right to be angry with me," he said humbly, and writhing.
Leam turned her eyes from him in artistic reprobation of his awkwardness and ungainly homage. She paused a moment: then, as if by an effort, she looked at him straight in the face and kindly. "You are too good to me," she said gently, "and I am too hard on you: it is cruel."