“I cannot for the life of me imagine.”
“What! Although every woman instinctively knows, and so forth.”
“Ah,” said she, smiling, “I meant that they always knew when the looks meant—pshaw! you know very well what I mean.”
“You would have me to understand that the Don’s looks, though they meant something, did not mean nascent love.”
“Yes. Do you not remember that sudden and intense look he gave me when we met him on the sidewalk? Well, when I came to turn that incident over in my mind I came to the conclusion that he mistook me for some one else. Now I am all at sea again. He knows, now, that I am Lucy Poythress, and not any one else.”
“Naturally.”
“Don’t be silly,—and still—”
“And still?”
“And yet—oh, you know what I mean.”
“Upon my word I do not.”