She met his look, a certain wistfulness in her grey eyes. "Oh, no, not
afraid--only sceptical."

"Only sceptical!" he echoed. "That is a worldwide complaint. But anyone
with imagination can always pretend. You are not good at pretending?"

"Not particularly."

His eyes challenged hers. "Perhaps you have never needed an anaesthetic?"
he said coolly.

She looked slightly startled. "What do you mean?"

He leaned deliberately forward across the table. "You know what an
anaesthetic does, don't you? It cheats the senses of pain. And a little
humbug does the same for the mind. Of course you don't believe anything.
I don't myself. But you can't stand for ever and contemplate an abyss of
utter ignorance. You must weave a little romance about it for the sake of
your self-respect."

She looked straight into the challenging eyes. The wistfulness was still
in her own. "Then you are offering to weave a little romance for me?" she
said, with a faint involuntary sigh.

He made her a brief bow. "If you will permit me to do so."

"To relieve your boredom?" she suggested with a smile.

"And yours," he smiled back, taking up the cards.