"I'm not sure that I feel any older."
"Then, except for birthdays, how do you know you ARE older?"
I looked at her and saw that I could trust her.
"May I confess to you?" I asked.
"But of course!" she cried eagerly. "I love confessions." She settled herself comfortably in her chair. "Make it as horrible as you can," she begged.
I picked a coal out of the fire with the tongs and lit my cigarette.
"I know that I'm getting old," I said; "I know that my innocent youth is leaving me, because of the strange and terrible things which I find myself doing."
"Oo-o-o-oh," said Miss Middleton happily to herself.
"Last Monday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, I—No, I can't tell you this. It's too awful."
"Is it very bad?" said Miss Middleton wistfully.