"There--there," said she: then, quietly, "Does it never occur to you that only foolish people are pleased with flatteries?""I have heard that; but I don't believe it. I know it makes me awfully happy whenever you say a kind word of me.""That is far from proving your wisdom," said Zoe; "and, instead of dwelling on my perfections, which do not exist, I wish you would _tell_me things."
"What things?"
"How can I tell till I hear them? Well, then, things about yourself.""That is a poor subject."
"Let me be the judge."
"Oh, there are lots of fellows who are always talking about themselves:
let me be an exception."
This answer puzzled Zoe, and she was silent, and put on a cold look. She was not accustomed to be refused anything reasonable.
Severne examined her closely, and saw he was expected to obey her. He then resolved to prepare, in a day or two, an autobiography full of details that should satisfy Zoe's curiosity, and win her admiration and her love. But he could not do it all in a moment, because his memory of his real life obstructed his fancy. Meantime he operated a diversion. He said, "Set a poor fellow an example. Tell me something about _yourself--_since I have the bad taste, and the presumption, to be interested in you, and can't help it. Did you spring from the foam of the Archipelago? or are you descended from Bacchus and Ariadne?""If you want sensible answers, ask sensible questions," said Zoe, trying to frown him down with her black brows; but her sweet cheek would tint itself, and her sweet mouth smile and expose much intercoral ivory.