George was surprised. He had certainly taken her for a married woman, and one of his generalizations about life was that he did not like young married women; hence he had not liked her. He now regarded her with fresh interest. She blushed a little, and looked very young indeed.
"Oh! Paris is all right!" she answered shortly.
The brown gentleman after a long, musing smile, discreetly abandoned the opening; but George, inquiring in a low voice if she lived in Paris, began a private talk with Miss Ingram,
who did live in Paris. He had his doubts about her entire agreeableness, but at any rate they got on to a natural, brusque footing, which contrasted with the somewhat ceremonious manner of the general conversation. She exceeded George in brusqueness, and tended to patronize him as a youngster. He noticed that she had yellow eyes.
"What do you think of his wig?" she demanded in an astonishing whisper, when the meal was over and chairs were being vacated.
" Is it a wig?" George exclaimed ingenuously.
"Oh, you boys!" she protested, with superiority. "Of course it's a wig."
"But how do you know it's a wig?" George insisted stoutly.
"'Is it a wig!'" she scorned him.
"Well, I'm not up in wigs," said George. "Who is he, anyhow?"