Yet the smile that came to his lips was cheering. He moved over slightly on the old-fashioned sofa on which he was sitting. Clancy took the hint; she sat down beside him.
"Suppose you were surprised to see me so soon again?" he asked. The banal question told Clancy that he intended to ignore the incident of Spofford. She was surprised—and vaguely indignant. Yet the indignation was not noticeable as she returned his smile.
"'Surprised?' I was thinking of you when I met you," she told him. "Of course I was surprised, but——"
"You were thinking of me?" He seemed to forget Spofford.
"Why not? Does one forget in twenty-four hours a man who has proposed?"
"There are degrees of forgetfulness," he said.
Clancy held her right hand before her. She spread its fingers wide. With the index-finger of her left hand, she began counting off, beginning with the right thumb.
"Absolute zero of forgetfulness. M-m-m—no; not that." She touched her right forefinger. "Freezing-point—no; not that." She completely forgot, in the always delightful tactics of flirtation, the man lurking outside. She paused.
"Please continue," pleaded Randall.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to," she told him. "You see, one finally reaches the boiling-point, which isn't forgetfulness at all, and—why are you in New York?" she suddenly demanded.