"Well," he said, "I've got nothing more to tell you. How about you?"
She took a little handkerchief out from the folds in her coat, then
put it back again, apparently with no purpose.
"I thought you had something to tell me?"
"I?"
"Yes; you said when you came up to the table that you had."
"That? Oh yes, that's business. We'll talk about that later. I want
to hear something about yourself first. You're engaged to be
married."
He rushed blindly at that--knew nothing about it. A ring on her finger
had suggested the thought, but whether it were on the proper finger
or not was beyond his knowledge of such little details.
"What makes you think that?" she asked.
"The ring on the finger."
"But that's not the right finger."
"Isn't it?"
"No. My grandmother gave me that."
He held her eyes--forced her to see the comprehension in his.
"Then you won't help me?" he said.
"Help you? How?"
"You don't want to tell me anything about yourself?"
"But I have nothing to tell. I'm a very uninteresting person, I'm
afraid."
This was shyness, this dropping into conventional phrases. He led
her deftly through them to a greater confidence in his interest, as
you steer a boat through shallow, rapid-running water.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130