good care that his sentimentality didn't make him see her as a chocolate-box picture! You only had to look at her eyes!
"But, Gerrit," she said, nestling at his feet, "I never ran after you! I met you by accident, really by accident, I assure you. Don't you remember? Yes, once when I was driving: that was the first time; then near the Alexander Barracks . . ."
"But what were you doing near the barracks, damn it?"
She looked at him coaxingly, stroked him caressingly:
"Oh, well . . . I thought . . . !"
"There, you see! . . . You thought . . . !"
"Yes, you won't believe me. . . . Even towards the end . . . in Paris, Gerrit . . ."
"Well?"
"I used to think of you sometimes."
"Oh, rot, you're lying! . . . Do you think I believe you?"
"No, you don't believe me, but, Gerrit . . . I assure you . . . men are beasts . . . and you . . ."
"Oh, yes, you tell everybody that: do you imagine I don't see through it?"
Then she laughed merrily; and he laughed too.
"I'm laughing," she said, "because you're pre-
