"Oh, no; she isn't married, either--at least--trust--not--because if she
_is_ I don't want to find her!" he ended, entangled in an explanation
which threatened to involve him deeper than he desired. And, looking up,
he saw the beautiful brown eyes regarding him steadily. They reverted to
the paper at once, and the white fingers sent the pencil flying.

"He trusts that she is unmarried, but if she _is_ (underlined) married
he doesn't want to find her," she wrote.

"That," she explained, "goes under the head of 'General Remarks' at the
bottom of the page"--she held it out, pointing with her pencil. He
nodded, staring at her slender hand.

"Age?" she continued, setting the pad firmly on her rounded, yielding
knee and looking up at him.

"Age? Well, I--as a matter of fact, I could only venture a surmise. You
know," he said earnestly, "how difficult it is to guess ages, don't you,
Miss Southerland?"

"How old do you _think_ she is? Could you not hazard a guess--judging,
say, from her appearance?"

"I have no data--no experience to guide me." He was becoming involved
again. "Would you, for practice, permit me first to guess your age, Miss
Southerland?"

"Why--yes--if you think that might help you to guess hers."