At best he was never a handsome man, but now his deep, dark eyes lit with a glow that surprised her.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said in a low voice.
“I’m so tempery,” she explained in apology, and added: “I suppose a nice girl wouldn’t have done it.”
“A nice girl did do it,” was all he could think to say.
“You needn’t take the trouble to say that. I know I’ve just scrambled up and am not ladylike and proper. Sometimes I don’t care. I like to be able 112 to do things like boys. But I suppose it’s dreadful.”
“I don’t think it is at all. None of your friends could think so. Not that I include myself among them,” he hastened to disclaim. “I can’t be both your friend and your enemy, can I?”
The trace of a sardonic smile was in his eyes. For the moment as she looked at him she thought he might. But she answered:
“I don’t quite see how.”
“You hate me, I suppose,” he blurted out bluntly.
“I suppose so.” And more briskly she added, with dimples playing near the corners of her mouth: “Of course I do.”