"How long have you known Fannie? It's odd that I've never—had the pleasure of meeting you before." (The pleasure was an after-thought.)
"O ... I've known Fannie for ... let me see ... nearly three years...." (I made a mental note of this for "Fannie's" benefit.) "We met when Will played Chicago two seasons since. We took quite a fancy to each other, and last winter when she came to New York we went about together and became quite good friends.... I presume you were away on one of your hunting trips last winter ... naughty sir ... that's the reason I didn't meet you.... This trip I brought Boy to Chicago.... You haven't seen my young son, have you? You must make his acquaintance to-morrow. We're most awfully vain about him ... think he's the only boy in the world. I suppose you feel that way about your little girls ... they are beauties. They've got your eyes, though they have inherited Fannie's regular features...."
Would my tongue never stop wagging? What manner of woman had I suddenly become? I did not recognize myself. Was it a case of self-hypnosis and was I really feeling the interest and friendliness I pretended? He was not precisely an Adonis; there was something rough, almost uncouth, about him in spite of the veneer his money had brought. But there was a kindliness, a wholesouledness that made itself felt. Under any other conditions I should have liked him.... I saw him look at his watch.
"What time is it?... The performance will soon be over and Mr. Hartley will wonder where I am.... Wouldn't he be surprised to walk in here and see me dining with a strange man?... I hope you're not afraid of getting yourself talked about...."
"No, I guess not," he laughed back. I was silent for a time, while I wrestled with the breast of a squab. I felt his eyes upon me. When I looked at him I saw that he was revolving something in his mind, and I sensed the subject. I gave him time to think it over. After a while I leaned back in my chair.
"I'm sorry to confess it, but I'm beginning to feel a bit tired," I sighed. "Even your genial presence will not keep my eyes open much longer.... Edith I'm sure is feeling the strain, too. Well, we'll all sleep better to-night—after our worry. 'All's well that ends well'—and that reminds me—my husband and I were admiring a set of Shakespeare you have in your library."
"Um—yes; I remember it. I bought it for the binding. Don't believe I ever saw the inside of it...." He freshened my glass of wine.
"You're not much of a drinker, are you?"
"Haven't got brains enough to stand it," I answered flippantly.
He laughed; it had a true ring to it.