"This pretense, it is not necessary between
you and me. So. You are ein bischen blasz, nicht? A
little pale? You have not been ill, Dawn?"
"Ill? Never felt more chipper in my life," I made
flippant answer, "and I adore these people who are
forever telling one how unusually thin, or pale, or
scrawny one is looking."
"Na, they are not to be satisfied, these women! If
I were to tell you how lovely you look to me to-night you
would draw yourself up with chill dignity and remind me
that I am not privileged to say these things to you. So
I discreetly mention that you are looking, interestingly
pale, taking care to keep all tenderness out of my tones,
and still you are not pleased." He shrugged despairing
shoulders.
"Can't you strike a happy medium between rudeness
and tenderness? After all, I haven't had a glimpse of
your blond beauty for three weeks. And while I don't ask
you to whisper sweet nothings, still, after twenty-one
days--"
"You have been lonely? If only I thought that those
weeks have been as wearisome to you--"
"Not lonely exactly," I hurriedly interrupted, "but
sort of wishing that some one would pat me on the head
and tell me that I was a good doggie.
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