“David,” said Eve, quietly, “I have thought of all this; but I am convinced now there is nothing in it.  You see, David, mother and I are used to your yarns, and so we take them as a matter of course; but the real fact is, they are very interesting and very enticing, and you tell them like a book.  You came all fresh to this lady, and, as she is very quick, she had the wit to see the merit of your descriptions directly.  I can see it myself now. All young women like to be amused, David, and, above all, excited; and your stories are very exciting; that is the charm; that is what makes her eyes fire; but if that puppy there, or that book-shelf yonder, could tell her your stories, she would look at either the puppy or the book-stand with just the same eyes she looks on you with, my poor David.”

“Don’t say so, Eve.  Let me think there is some little feeling for me inside those sweet eyes, that look so kind on me—­”

“And on me, and on everybody.  It is her manner.  I tell you she is so to all the world.  She isn’t the first I’ve met.  Trust me to read a woman, David; what can you know?”

“I know nothing; but they tell me you can fathom one another better than any man ever could,” said David, sorrowfully.

“’David, just now you were telling as interesting a story as ever was.  You had just got to the thrilling part.”

“Oh, had I?  What was I saying?”

“I can’t tell you to the very word; I am not your sweetheart any more than she is; but one of the sailors was in danger of his life, and so on.  You never told me the story before; I was not worth it.  Well, just then does not that affected puppy choose his time to come meandering in?”

“Puppy!  I call him a fine gentleman.”

“Well, there isn’t so much odds.  In he comes; your story is broken off directly.  Does she care?  No, she has got one of her own set; he is not a very bright one; he is next door to a fool.  No matter; before he came, to judge by her crocodile eyes, she was hot after your story; the moment he did come, she didn’t care a pin for you nor your story.  I gave her more than one opening to bring it on again; not she.  I tell you, you are nothing but a pass time;* you suit her turn so long as none of her own set are to be had.  If she would leave you for such a jackanapes as that, what would she do for a real gentleman? such a man as she is a woman, for instance, and as if there weren’t plenty such in her own set—­oh, you goose!”

* I write this word as the lady thought proper to pronounce it.

David interrupted her.  “I have been a vain fool, and it is lucky no one has seen it but you,” and he hid his face in his hands a moment; then, suddenly remembering where he was, and that this was an attitude to attract attention, he tried to laugh—­a piteous effort; then he ground his teeth and said:  “Let us go home.  All I want now is to get out of the house.  It would have been better for me if I had never set foot in it.”