flinched from hers. They were alive, glowing with insistence.

"Yes," she said at length. "Quite honestly, I do prefer good men."

"That wasn't exactly what I asked," said Nap, thrusting out his chin.

"I think you are capable of drawing your own conclusions," she
answered gently.

His look fell away from her. He began to munch scone with a
contemplative air.

Anne gave him some tea, and he set it on the hearthrug between his
feet. The silence became lengthy. She was conscious of something in
the atmosphere that made her vaguely uneasy. Was it a cat he resembled,
crouching there in front of her? No, there was nothing domestic about
him though she had a feeling that he could purr when he was pleased.
Yes, there was undoubtedly something feline about him, a supple grace,
a noiselessness, a guile, that made her aware of the necessity for
caution in her dealings with him. This was a man of many
subtleties--she knew it instinctively--a man of tigerish temperament,
harmless as a kitten in sunshine, merciless as a fiend in storm. Yes,
he was certainly like a tiger, forcible even in repose. She had never
before encountered so dominant a personality. It affected her
strangely, half-attracting, half-repelling, arousing in her a sense of
antagonism that yet was not aversion.

"I wish you would say all that out loud," said Nap. "You have such
interesting thoughts, it is really selfish of you not to express them."