“Do try to make Mr. Carter understand!”
We were left along. George wore a meditative smile. Presently he roused himself to say:
“She’s really a very kind woman. She’s so sympathetic. She’s not like you. I expect she felt it once herself, you know.”
“One can never tell,” said I carelessly. “Perhaps she did—once.”
George fell to brooding again. I thought I would try an experiment.
“Not altogether bad-looking, either, is she?” I asked, lighting a cigarette.
George started.
“What? Oh, well, I don’t know. I suppose some people might think so.”
He paused, and added, with a bashful, knowing smile—
“You can hardly expect me to go into raptures about her, can you, old man?”