He broke off abruptly. "What are you thinking?" he demanded.
She gave no sign of triumph at having accomplished her purpose--at
having forced his thoughts to leave his pet subject, himself, and
center upon her. "I was thinking," said she reflectively, "what a
brave whistler you are."
"Whistler?"
"Whistling to keep up your courage. No, rather, whistling FOR
courage. You are on your knees before wealth and social position,
and you wish to convince yourself--and the world--that you despise
them."
"_I_? Wealth? Social position?" Craig exclaimed, or rather,
blustered. And, red and confused, he was at a loss for words.
"Yes--you," asserted she, in her quiet, tranquil way. "Don't
bluster at me. You didn't bluster at the Court this morning." She
laughed softly, eyeing him with friendly sarcasm. "You see, I'm
'on to' you, Mr. Craig."
Their eyes met--a resolute encounter. He frowned fiercely, and as
his eyes were keen and blue-green, and, backed by a tremendous
will, the odds seemed in his favor. But soon his frown relaxed; a
smile replaced it--a handsome acknowledgment of defeat, a
humorous confession that she was indeed "on to" him. "I like you,"
he said graciously.
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