1
FELIX smiled at her. “Nor even a woman, Rose-Ann?”
“If that’s what being a woman is, no. But you’re mistaken. A woman can be something else besides that.”
“So it seems. I always had the notion that they understood life better than I did. But I’m mistaken, I guess.”
“Would you like to be my keeper?” she flashed out. “Would you want to guard and watch after me, and keep me in the paths I should go in?”
He looked at her intently. “So that—that is what you want?” he hazarded.
For a moment that seemed to him the truth hidden behind all Rose-Ann’s evasions. But before he had time to read confirmation in her startled eyes, the waiter came up.
“Is there anything else?—You don’t like the stew today?”
He stood there, a statue of injured pride, looking at the neglected dish.
“It’s a noble stew,” said Felix. “Nothing wrong with the stew. Bring our coffee.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I take away the stew?”
“Please.”
He bore it away with a mournful air.