You are a man and
you have the poison somewhere in your blood. I am really not
bad-looking, you know."
He looked at her critically. She was a little over-slim,
perhaps, but she was certainly wonderfully graceful. Even the
poise of her head, the manner in which she leaned back in her
chair, had its individuality. Her features, too, were good,
though her mouth had grown a trifle hard. For the first time the
dead pallor of her cheeks was relieved by a touch of color. Even
Tavernake realized that there were great possibilities about her.
Nevertheless, he shook his head.
"I do not agree with you in the least," he asserted firmly.
"Your looks have nothing to do with it. I am sure that it is not
that."
"Let me cross-examine you," she suggested. "Think carefully now.
Does it give you no pleasure at all to be sitting here alone with
me?"
He answered her deliberately; it was obvious that he was speaking
the truth.
"I am not conscious that it does," he declared. "The only
feeling I am aware of at the present moment in connection with
you, is the curiosity of which I have already spoken."
She leaned a little towards him, extending her very shapely
fingers. Once more the smile at her lips transformed her face.
"Look at my hand," she said. "Tell me--wouldn't you like to hold
it just for a minute, if I gave it you?"
Her eyes challenged his, softly and yet imperiously. His whole
attention, however, seemed to be absorbed by her finger-nails.
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