She shook her head slowly without raising her eyes or emerging from the
deep recess of her reserve.

"You are a mystery to me. I can't decide whether you are very innocent
or very--concealing."

She glanced inquiringly at him. "I don't understand," she said.

He smiled. "No more do I. I've seen so much of faking--in women as well
as in men--that it's hard for me to believe anyone is genuine."

"Do you think I am trying to deceive you? About what?"

He made an impatient gesture--impatience with his credulity where she
was concerned. "No matter. I want to make you happy--because I want you
to make me happy."

Her eyes became as grave as a wondering child's. "You are laughing at
me," she said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I could not make you happy."

"Why not?"

"What could a serious man like you find in me?"

His intense, burning gaze held hers. "Some time I will tell you."