He flushed up so vividly that she winced, then added quickly:  “I didn’t mean that, Mr. Hamil; I knew you were worth it when I did it.”

“The worst of it is that I am not,” he said.  “I’m like everybody who has been through college and chooses a profession for love of it.  I do know something about that profession; outside of it, the least I can say for myself is that I care about everything that goes on in this very jolly world.  Curiosity has led me about by the nose.  The result is a series of acquired smatterings.”

She regarded him intently with that clear gaze he found so refreshing—­a direct, fearless scrutiny which straightened her eyebrows to a fascinating level and always made him think of a pagan marble, with delicately chiselled, upcurled lips, and white brow youthfully grave.

“Did you study abroad?”

“Yes—­not long enough.”

She seemed rather astonished at this.  Amused, he rested both elbows on the parapet, looking at her from between the strong, lean hands that framed his face.

“It was droll—­the way I managed to scurry like a jack-rabbit through school and college on nothing a year.  I was obliged to hurry post-graduate courses and Europe and such agreeable things.  Otherwise I would probably be more interesting to you—­”

“You are sufficiently interesting,” she said, flushing up at his wilful misinterpretation.

And, as he laughed easily: 

“The horrid thing about it is that you are interesting and you know it.  All I asked of you was to be seriously interesting to me—­occasionally; and instead you are rude—­”

“Rude!”

“Yes, you are!—­pretending that I was disappointed in you because you hadn’t dawdled around Europe for years in the wake of an education.  You are, apparently, just about the average sort of man one meets—­yet I kicked over several conventions for the sake of exchanging a few premature words with you, knowing all the while I was to meet you later.  It certainly was not for your beaux yeux; I am not sentimental!” she added fiercely.  “And it was not because you are a celebrity—­you are not one yet, you know.  Something in you certainly appealed to something reckless in me; yet I did not really feel very sinful when I let you speak to me; and, even in the boat, I admit frankly that I enjoyed every word that we spoke—­though I didn’t appear to, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” he said.

She smiled, watching him, chin on hand.

“I wonder how you’ll like this place,” she mused.  “It’s gay—­in a way.  There are things to do every moment if you let people rob you of your time—­dances, carnivals, races, gambling, suppers.  There’s the Fortnightly Club, and various charities too, and dinners and teas and all sorts of things to do outdoors on land and on water.  Are you fond of shooting?”

“Very.  I can do that pretty well.”

“So can I. We’ll go with my father and Gray.  Gray is my brother; you’ll meet him at luncheon.  What time is it?”