stupid or horrible," he reminded her
carefully.

"I said that most of them were."

He thought a moment.

"I wish that there had been a bouillon here," he said then.

She began to put on her gloves, thinking that the hour of departure was
close at hand.

"_J'ai envie de fumer une cigarette_," he said suddenly, "_ca ne vous
fait rien d'attender un peu_?"

"I don't care," she answered, and laid her gloves down again.

"Am I ever horrible to you?" he asked, taking a match from the white
china pyramid that ornamented the centre of the table.

"I didn't say 'horrible;' I said 'horrid.'"

"Is there a difference?" he lit his cigarette.

"Yes, indeed."

He crossed his arms upon the table, and smiled at her through his own
personal quota of smoke.

"Tell me the difference. Why are we horrid?"

"Because you so often are. Men never understand."

"_Au contraire_," he said quietly, "men always understand. It is the
woman who will not believe it, and it is cruel to say her the truth. A
woman is always _genee_, she will sob in a man's arms and still declare
that 'No.' Why is it necessary for her to be so? That I cannot
understand."

Rosina caught a quick little breath; she had not been prepared for such
a turn of conversation. Von Ibn went on with a degree of nonchalance
that masked his close observance admirably.

"When a man loves a woman, he knows certainly if she loves him or not.
It is there every minute in her eyes and on her lips; and yet he must
ask her, and she must pretend a surprise. Why? We are altogether human.
Then why must women be different? I am most sorry for a poor woman; she
cannot be kissed or caressed or loved without the pretence that she
dislikes it. It must be very difficult."

She felt her face getting warm.

"You do not like what I have say?" he asked.

"No."

"Because it is true?"

"It isn't true."

"An American would not say that to you?"

"Certainly not."

"Do you like better the American way of covering up all truth?"

"It is politer, I think."

He looked at her for a moment.

"I have been horrible, _n'est-ce pas_?" he asked.

She felt very uncomfortable indeed.

"Do let us go now," she said in a low tone.

He struck his water-glass with a knife, and their waitress, who was near
by, looked around.

"_'Zahlen!_" he called to her. She nodded. He went for his coat and hat,
and when he returned Rosina was fastening the frogs on her jacket.

"I would have put it on