"I was not," he said in reply to her question.
"But you are not being serious, are you?" There was the simplicity of a child in the look that accompanied her words.
"Must I be serious?" he asked, pocketing his pipe and taking out his cigarette-case.
"Pleeeeeease."
Again there was silence, during which Beresford lighted a cigarette.
"I just wanted you to know," she said.
"That I had been nice to you?"
She nodded.
"Thank you."
"I don't like men," she began, and then hesitated.
"As a conversational opening to set me at my ease" he began with a smile.
"Now you are not being serious," she protested. "What I wanted to tell you was" again she paused, "that—that—you have been so different from the others."
"Shall we take all that for granted?" He smiled across at her a friendly, understanding smile.
"Oh yes, let's," she cried with a sigh of relief; "I have been wanting to tell you only I Of course, it seems silly, doesn't it?"
"Does it?"
"Now," she continued with a great air of decision, "there's the other thing."
"Is that serious also?" he asked quizzically.
She nodded vigorously.
"I'm afraid I'm going to be very rude," she cried
