"How can I tell till I hear them? Well, then, things about yourself."

"That is a poor subject."

"Let me be the judge."

"Oh, there are lots of fellows who are always talking about themselves:
let me be an exception."

This answer puzzled Zoe, and she was silent, and put on a cold look. She
was not accustomed to be refused anything reasonable.

Severne examined her closely, and saw he was expected to obey her. He
then resolved to prepare, in a day or two, an autobiography full of
details that should satisfy Zoe's curiosity, and win her admiration and
her love. But he could not do it all in a moment, because his memory of
his real life obstructed his fancy. Meantime he operated a diversion. He
said, "Set a poor fellow an example. Tell me something about
_yourself--_since I have the bad taste, and the presumption, to be
interested in you, and can't help it. Did you spring from the foam of the
Archipelago? or are you descended from Bacchus and Ariadne?"

"If you want sensible answers, ask sensible questions," said Zoe, trying
to frown him down with her black brows; but her sweet cheek would tint
itself, and her sweet mouth smile and expose much intercoral ivory.

"Well, then," said he, "I will ask you a prosaic question, and I only
hope you won't think it impertinent. How--ever-- did such a strangely
assorted party as yours come to travel together? And if Vizard has turned