Yes. I asked him if he’d noticed whether you’d gone in to breakfast yet. He said, “You mean Missuz—Missuz Curtis?” Then I knew you must be married. (He shakes his head ruefully.)
MRS. CURTIS (smiling)
Well?
MR. BRIGGS (thoughtfully)
Well, it can’t be helped.
MRS. CURTIS
I suppose not.
MR. BRIGGS (brightening a little)
Well, anyhow, I had that—that sort of drawn feeling toward you, the way I would get toward a woman that’s had some experience of life; but a hotel like this is no place to explain feelings like that. You can’t when you’re dancing—not the way you want to—and all the rest of the time you had some o’ those old men hangin’ around, or else my mother and sister wanted me for something; because a hotel like this—why, it’s terrible the way a young man’s mother and sister want him to do somep’n for ’em all the time; so this is the first chance I’ve had.
MRS. CURTIS (rather urgently)