care for that kind of a man."

"Am I so particular, then?"

"Yes, I think you are."

"Thank you for nothing."

"Oh, I meant to be complimentary, I assure you. Isn't it a compliment
to be thought particular in your tastes?"

"That depends upon how you are told. Your manner was not at all
calculated to flatter me. It said too plainly that you thought me
captious."

"But I don't."

"Of course you wouldn't own it," Ethel retorted, playing with a
tortoise-shell paper-cutter she had picked up from the table by which
she sat; "but your manner was not to be mistaken. It betrayed you in
spite of yourself."

Rangely knew how foolish he was to be affected by light banter like
this, but for his life he could not have helped it. The fact that Ethel
knew how easily she could tease him lent a tantalizing sparkle to her
eyes. She smiled mockingly as he vainly tried to keep the flush from
rising in his cheeks.

"You are singularly fond of teasing," he observed, in a manner he
endeavored to make cool and philosophical.