He tardily lighted his cigarette and sat smoking beside her, the
tiny glow lighting his face briefly now and then.

"When I was joshing you there before supper," he went on,
speaking low that he might not be overheard--and ridiculed--from
the house, "I didn't know the whole outfit was making a practice
of doing the same thing. I hadn't heard about the dead tarantula
on your pillow, or the rattler coiled up on the porch, or any of
those innocent little jokes. But if the rest are making it their
business to devil the life out of you, why--common humanity
forces me to apologize and tell you I'm out of it from now on."

"Oh! Thank you very much." Evadna's tone might be considered
ironical. "I suppose I ought to say that your statement lessens
my dislike of you--"

"Not at all." Grant interrupted her. "Go right ahead and hate
me, if you feel that way. It won't matter to me--girls never did
concern me much, one way or the other. I never was susceptible
to beauty, and that seems to be a woman's trump card, always--"

"Well, upon my word!"

"Sounds queer, does it? But it's the truth, and so what's the
use of lying, just to be polite? I won't torment you any more;
and if the boys rig up too strong a josh, I'm liable to give you
a hint beforehand. I'm willing to do that--my sympathies are
always with the under dog, anyway, and they're five to one. But
that needn't mean that I'm--that I--" He groped for words that