I am you will tell me, won't you?" The earnestness of his manner was unmistakable.
"Please don't be foolish," she said reproachfully. "I know it's impertinent of me; but I wish you would tell me about yourself, about"
"About myself?" he queried. "I've told you all there is to tell."
"I mean about the future," she persisted.
"Like the mule, I have no future."
She turned her head aside, and mechanically began to pluck blades of grass.
"You see," she began, her head still averted.
"I'm sorry; but I don't."
"You're most horribly difficult to talk to," she said, screwing up her eyebrows.
"But you said"
"You promised to be serious, please—pleeeease be nice."
Be nice! Did she know that she was tormenting him, that she was maddening, that she was irresistible in that porridge-coloured frock—that was the nearest he could get to the actual tint—and that floppy sort of hat with orange ribbon, and her grey suede shoes and stockings? What an ankle!
"I'll be as serious as my situation," he said, seeing reproach in the eyes she turned to him. "Honest Injun."
She smiled and nodded at the childish phrase.
"You were talking the other day " she said, then stopped.
"Why not blurt it out," he suggested.
