'He's charming,' she said. 'He's in excellent style; he's in the set in London. And he wants a wife with a competency. That's why I brought him here.'
'But what does he do?' asked her husband. 'Does he just exist?'
'Yes, I guess he exists. Men do exist in England; here they don't. They get.'
'Some exist here. Ping-pong does.'
'And who's Ping-pong?' she asked.
'Why, Armstrong. Amelie thought of it. He is a ping-pong, you know.'
This time Mrs. Palmer gave the scream, for she was so much amused as to forget the absence of an audience.
'Well, I'm sure, if Amelie isn't bright,' she said. 'But you're pretty far out, Lewis, if you think that Lord Keynes is a ping-pong. If he was an American, and did nothing, he would be. But men do nothing in England without being.'
'England's a ping-pong, I think sometimes,' remarked Lewis. 'She just plays about. However, we're not discussing that. Now I see you mean business with Lord Keynes. You'll run it through on your own lines, I suppose. But remember '—he paused a moment—' I guess it's rather difficult for one to say it,' he said, 'but it's just this: When a girl marries a man, if she doesn't hit it off, the best thing she can do is to make believe she does. But I doubt if Amelie can make believe worth a cent.'
'Well, she just adores him,' said Mrs. Palmer.