As a rule the real lover does not make love.

True love is born, not made.

But you--Heavens above! perhaps I did an injustice to you--to you and to the men.

Maybe you're not such a tyro after all, Phyllis." Phyllis gave a very pretty little laugh--such a laugh as would have convinced any man but a father--perhaps, indeed, some fathers--that she was not without experience.

Suddenly she became grave.