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comfort and protect her. And yet—and he was forced to acknowledge it ruefully—she didn't look the least bit in the world like a person requiring either sympathy or protection. There was a confidence about her every look and gesture that made the idea seem utterly incongruous. Miles found himself wishing selfishly that she was not so evidently capable and self-reliant.
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His pipe had gone out during his
period of reflection, and he scratched
a match to relight it. At the sound
the girl turned and looked at him in
smiling despair.
"I wish! Can't you see," she asked, helplessly, "that I can't paint while you sit there staring at me?"
"Was I staring?" he asked, hypocritically.
"Well, weren't you?"
