''
``I don't understand,'' said she.
No answer from him. The cigarette depending
listlessly from his lips seemed--as usual--uncertain
whether it would stay or fall. She watched this uncertainty
with a curious, nervous interest. She was always
thinking that cigarette would fall, but it never did.
Said she:
``Why did you say you liked me less?''
``Better,'' corrected he.
``We used to have a pump in our back yard at home,''
laughed she. ``One toiled away at the handle, but
nothing ever came. And it was a promising-looking
pump, too.''
He smiled--a slow, reluctant smile, but undeniably
attractive. Said he:
``Because you threw away your cigarette.''
``You object to women smoking?''
``No,'' said he. His tone made her feel how absurd
it was to suspect him of such provincialism.
``You object to MY smoking?'' suggested she;
laughing, ``Pump! Pump!''
``No,'' said he.
``Then your remark meant nothing at all?''
He was silent.
``You are rude,'' said she coldly, rising to go into
the house.
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