She gathered all her composure, steadied her senses to choose a
reply, and made a blunder:

"Do you really care what I think?" she asked lightly, and bit her
lip too late.

"Do you believe I care about anything else in the world--now?"

She went on bravely, blindly:

"And do _you_ expect me to believe in--in such an exaggerated and
romantic expression to a staid and matter-of-fact widow whom you
never saw more than once in your life?"

"You _do_ believe it."

Confused, scarcely knowing what she was saying, she still attempted
to make light of his words, holding her own against herself for the
moment, making even some headway. And all the while she was aware
of mounting emotion--a swift inexplicable charm falling over them
both.

He had become silent again, and she was saying she knew not
what--fortifying her common-sense with gay inconsequences, when he
looked up straight into her eyes.

"I have distressed you. I should not have spoken as I did."

"No, you should not----"