I TALK WITH JEAN
"My eyes!" They dropped an instant, then opened wide, gazing into my own.
"Yes; I cannot explain, yet they seem to say I shall be welcome, even while your lips deny." I caught her clasped hands in mine, and separated them. "Which tell the truth?"
She made no effort to draw away from me, but laughed lightly.
"Neither, would be the safer guess," she responded, "for both are masks. You cannot understand me. Lieutenant King, and it is useless to try. I do not even understand myself. I am a continual contradiction; I don't in the least want to like you, but I do; I know I wish you to go away, and—and yet it is not so easy. You interest me; perhaps that is why I have such opposite moods. But really you must not take me too seriously either from the eyes or the lips. I do not promise that either tell all the truth."
"Where, then, can I discover the truth?"
"I am sure I do not know," innocently. "Would you expect to in a woman?"
"Yes, in a true woman. But you puzzle me. What are you?—a flirt?"
"Indeed no!"
"A coquette?"
"Certainly not, Lieutenant King."
"Then what?"
She was breathing heavily, her hands still clasped tightly in mine, her cheeks flushed.
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