“You never can tell how much a woman believes,” he retorted.

“And you keep trying to find out?”

“No, but I think that they might believe the truth.”

“You’d better try them with it!”

“Well, I will.  Do you really want to know what I’m going to do when I get through?”

“Let me see!” Miss Lynde leaned forward, with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, and softly kicked the edge of her skirt with the toe of her shoe, as if in deep thought.  Jeff waited for her to play her comedy through.  “Yes,” she said, “I think I did wish to know—­at one time.”

“But you don’t now?”

“Now?  How can I tell?  It was a great while ago!”

“I see you don’t.”

Miss Lynde did not make any reply.  She asked, “Do you know my aunt, Durgin?”

“I didn’t know you had one.”

“Yes, everybody has an aunt—­even when they haven’t a mother, if you can believe the Gilbert operas.  I ask because I happen to live with my aunt, and if you knew her she might—­ask you to call.”  Miss Lynde scanned Jeff’s face for the effect of this.

He said, gravely:  “If you’ll introduce me to her, I’ll ask her to let me.”

“Would you, really?” said the girl.  “I’ve half a mind to try.  I wonder if you’d really have the courage.”

“I don’t think I’m easily rattled.”

“You mean that I’m trying to rattle you.”

“No—­”

“I’m not.  My aunt is just what I’ve said.”

“You haven’t said what she was.  Is she here?”

“No; that’s the worst of it.  If she were, I should introduce you, just to see if you’d dare.  Well, some other time I will.”

“You think there’ll be some other time?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t know.  There are all kinds of times.  By-the-way, what time is it?”

Jeff looked at his watch.  “Quarter after six.”

“Then I must go.”  She jumped to her feet, and faced about for a glimpse of herself in the little glass on the mantel, and put her hand on the large pink roses massed at her waist.  One heavy bud dropped from its stem to the floor, where, while she stood, the edge of her skirt pulled and pushed it.  She moved a little aside to peer over at a photograph.  Jeff stooped and picked up the flower, which he offered her.

“You dropped it,” he said, bowing over it.

“Did I?” She looked at it with an effect of surprise and doubt.

“I thought so, but if you don’t, I shall keep it.”

The girl removed her careless eyes from it.  “When they break off so short, they won’t go back.”

“If I were a rose, I should want to go back,” said Jeff.

She stopped in one of her many aversions and reversions, and looked at him steadily across her shoulder.  “You won’t have to keep a poet, Mr. Durgin.”

“Thank you.  I always expected to write the circulars myself.  I’ll send you one.”