“Upon my honour they didn’t. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“H’m! A discontented age. Everybody is discontented at twenty-four. But you—well, at whatever age, you always will be.”
“You are not a flattering prophet, I doubt if you are a true one.”
“Time will show.”
“You seem great at drawing deductions and wonderfully confident in their accuracy.”
“Perhaps. Human beings are like books; some are made to be read, while others are made apparently to serve no purpose whatever. But all can be read.”
“And I?”
“A very open page. As, for instance, at this moment, the subject of your thoughts is my unworthy self. You are speculating how at my time of life I come to take up a berth usually occupied by raw youngsters, and mystifying yourself over my record in general; though, womanlike, you are going to deny it.”
“No I am not. There! Womanlike, I am going to do the unexpected, and prove you no true prophet as to the latter statement. That is exactly what I was thinking.”