He added, after a moment, "I don't believe I
can."
"Because it's confidential?"
"No; not exactly that. Because it's impossible."
"Oh, that's simple enough. I understand exactly what you mean. Well, if
ever it becomes less difficult, remember that I should always like to
know. It seemed a little--personal."
"How in the world?"
"Well, when one is stared at in that way--"
"Did I stare?"
"Don't you _always_ stare? But in this case you stared as if there was
something wrong with my hair."
"There wasn't," Alford protested, simple-heartedly. Then he recollected
his sophistication to say: "Unless its being of that particular shade
between brown and red was wrong."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Alford! After that I _must_ believe you."
They talked on the veranda till the night fell, and then they came in
among the lamps, in the parlor, and she sat down with a certain
provisionality, putting herself sideways on a light chair by a window,
and as she chatted and laughed with one cheek towards him she now and
then beat the back of her chair with her open hand.
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