was not wholly right in this. 

 "You must admit, Mr. Eaton, that I am treating you very well." 

 "In pardoning an offense where no offense was meant?" 

 "It is partly that—that I realized no offense was meant. Partly it is because I do not pass judgment on things I do not understand. I could imagine no possible reason for your very peculiar refusal." 

 "Not even that I might be perhaps the sort of person who ought not to be introduced into your party in quite that way?" 

 "That least of all. Persons of that sort do not admit themselves to be such; and if I have lived for twen—I shall not tell you just how many years—the sort of life I have been obliged to live almost since I was born, without learning to judge men in that respect, I must have failed to use my opportunities." 

 "Thank you," he returned quietly; then, as he recollected his instinctive prejudice against Avery: "However, I am not so sure." 

 She plainly waited for him to go on, but he pretended to be concerned wholly with guiding her along the platform. 

 "Mr. Eaton!" 

 "Yes." 

 "Do you know that you are a most peculiar man?" 

 "Exactly in what way, Miss Dorne?" 

 "In this: The ordinary man, when a woman shows any curiosity about himself, answers with a fullness and particularity and eagerness which seems to say, 'At last you have found a subject which interests me!'" 

 "Does he?" 

 "Is that the only reply you care to make?" 

 "I can think of none more adequate." 

 "Meaning that after my altogether too open display of curiosity regarding you, I can still do nothing better than guess, without any expectation that you, on your part, will deign to tell me whether I am right or wrong. Very well; my first guess is that you have not done much walking with young women on station platforms—certainly not much of late." 

 "I'll try to do better, if you'll tell me how you know 

 Prev. P 24/255 next