“Look here, Meester Deek, I like you most awfully and we’ve had some splendid times, but why are you stopping in America?”
He would gaze into her eyes dumbly, thinking, “Now’s my chance.”
His hesitancy would infect her with boldness. “If it’s for my sake, I’m not worth the trouble. I think you’d better go back to England. The Lusitania’s sailing tomorrow.”
Piqued by her assumed indifference, he would pretend to take her at her word: “Perhaps I had better. Would you come to see me off?”
“Maybe.”
“And kiss me good-by?”
“If I felt like it.”
“Then it’s almost worth going.”
“Why don’t you?”
Once he gave her a fright They were passing The International Sleeping Car Company on Fifth Avenue. “I think I will,” he said lightly.