"That was because I was a little bit frightened of you. You were so cross just now, before we came in, that I did n't know what to say to you."
"I cross? What a calumny! I was in my sweetest humor."
She looked at him mischievously.
"If you call that your sweetest humor, all I can think is that you 're not as clever as you pretend to be."
"I 'm afraid I 'm not. For example, I 'm not clever enough to understand you—a little girl like you, scarcely half my age."
"Am I really such a sphinx?"
"You are to me."
"I like that," she said, smiling, and gathering up the edge of the curtain in a frill; "I don't want everybody to see through me. But you 're different."
"How am I different?"
"You 're more a friend than other people—more a friend than anybody else I know. Tell me what you don't understand about me, and I 'll explain it. I won't leave myself a single secret."
Though he was standing close to her, looking down at her, he suddenly dropped his voice to the key that was the lowest she could hear.
"If I only dared to ask, and you would only tell the truth."
