He seized on that, in his eagerness pressing her arm against his side,
bending over her like a lover.

"Yes, but not all. And why not all? Why should you keep anything from
me?"

"But why _should_ I tell you?" she asked, her loitering step coming
to a stop.

As the situation stood the question was a poser. He did not want to be
her lover, had never intended it; his easy gallantry had meant nothing.
But now, seeing her averted face, the eyes down-drooped, he could think
of no reply that was not love-making. She stole a swift look at him,
recognized his hesitation, and felt a stab, for it was the love-making
answer she had expected. The mortified anger of the woman who has made a
bid for tenderness and seen herself mistaken surged up in her.

She jerked her arm violently out of his grasp and walked forward at a
swinging pace.

"What's the matter?" he said, chasing at her heels. "Are you angry?"

"I shouldn't wonder," she threw over her shoulder. "Being nagged at for
fun doesn't appeal to me."

"But what do you mean?--I'm all at sea."

She suddenly brought up short, and wheeling, faced him, her face
lowering, her breath quick: