"
She screwed her face up a second time.
"To please you, Mr. West?"
"No," he responded curtly. "As a sensible precaution."
"And if I don't happen to be remarkable for sense?" she suggested.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Yes, I know," said Cynthia. "You say that to everything. It's getting
rather monotonous. And I'm sure I'm very patient. You'll grant me that,
at least?"
He turned his ice-blue eyes upon her.
"I am not good at paying compliments, Miss Mortimer," he said cynically.
"Twelve years in prison have rusted all my little accomplishments."
She met his look with a smile, though her lips were quivering still.
"My! What a pity!" she said. "Has your heart got rusty, too?"
"Very," said West shortly.
"Can't you rub it off?" she questioned.
He uttered his ironic laugh.
"There wouldn't be anything left if I did."
"No?" she said whimsically. "Well, give it to me, and let me see what I
can do!"
His eyes fell away from her, and the grim line of his jaw hardened
perceptibly.
"That would be too hard a job even for you!" he said.
She rose and put out her free hand to him. Her eyes were very soft and
womanly. A quaint little smile yet hovered about her lips.
"I guess I'll have a try," she said gently.
He did not touch her hand, nor would he again meet her eyes.
"A hopeless task, I am afraid," he said. "And utterly unprofitable to
all concerned.
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